Buzzed
by Roses on Thursdays
Summary: She likes her coffee with cream and sugar. He likes his strictly black. That's only the beginning of their differences. 2 AM every morning, a cup of coffee each, buzzed on the caffeine. Rolling pumpkins, literature love and unfortunate relationships. AU
1. Prestige and Conceit

Disclaimer: If I was as genius as J. K. Rowling I promise you I wouldn't be where I am now. Characters aren't mine, setting or anything you recognize is not mine. I'm pretty sure the plot is mine though. 

Summary: She likes her coffee with cream and sugar. He likes his strictly black. That's only the beginning of their differences. 3 AM every morning, a cup of coffee each, buzzed on the caffeine and the energy of their conversation.

**-Chapter One-**

_Prestige and Conceit_

Hermione was startled when the silence of the sleeping kitchen was disturbed. Being rather skittish, she jumped in her seat and cursed when parboiling coffee splashed into her lap.

"Language, Granger," a masculine voice said. Hermione whipped around, not thinking. This action spilled even a larger amount of coffee over herself. She let out a frustrated yell and slammed her cup on the table (spilling even _more _coffee) and grasped her wand to hurriedly remove the liquid. She cast an annoyed look over her shoulder at her new company who seemed rather amused.

She looked down at her favorite gray sweatshirt and cursed under her breath. The coffee, even though immediately removed, left a large tan stain on the front of the overlarge sweatshirt. She sighed in pouty melodrama.

"Good evening, or morning rather, to you too," her company said, smirk evident in his voice. With her back to him she could just picture him leaning against the wall to the right of him, arms crossed against his chest and smirk lingering over his arrogant features. She turned around; hypothesis wrong.

His arms were crossed like he was waiting for something and her had one dark eyebrow raised to accentuate the fact that she was wuite a spectacle. She scoffed. He was his own spectacle.

"Fancy meeting you here, Zabini," she said in a monotone voice. She turned back around to clean up her coffeedrama. She mopped up her mess with some napkins provided decorated with dancing pumpkins along the edges. At that moment Dobby rushed in night cap set on his head but his eyes wide as usual.

"Mister Zabini! How can Dobby help you?" he squeaked pleasantly. He then cast a look at Hermione. "Oh, dear," he said and seemed as if he were trying to decide who he would rather help. He must've known that Hermione would've shooed him away because he looked up expectantly at Zabini.

"Coffee, please, black," he said. "And I think Miss Granger is going to need another cup herself. Seems she has downed hers already." A smirk crept its way across his face and he looked her, still thoroughly amused. Hermione, ignoring him completely, stood and disposed of the dancing pumpkin napkins and returned to her seat in the corner of the kitchen without paying any respect to her new company.

As quickly as he had left, Dobby came rushing in with two cups balanced precariously in his hands. His round orbs of eyes kept a close watch on the level of the large mugs. He gently set the mug with the lighter-colored fluid in front of Hermione who muttered what was supposed to a be a grateful thank you, but came out quite annoyed. Dobby ignored this as he took the cup filled with the presumably black liquid to Zabini. He scampered out of the kitchen to probably catch a few more seconds of sleep before the two coffee-addicts called for more coffee.

Zabini pause a few more moments before walking over to the small three by three card table. The tiny table was worn and old, probably drawn out from Filch's closet from fifty years ago. The table top was brown and cushioned with cotton and a faux leather covering that had seemed to see one too many straight flushes. There were cuts in the top small puffs of old yellow cotton peeping out. There were stains of green, darker browns and reds across the table. The fold out legs were folded out at angles slightly larger than ninety degrees and each leg poking out at a different angle making the table slant slightly to Hermione's left.

He eyed the table but sat down on one side that was not occupied by Hermione or by the wall it was leaning against. He took a gulp of his coffee his mouth acquired to the scalding heat of his regular cup. He leaned back in to the comfy, out of place chair. He looked down to see him self sitting in a dining room chair with cherry wood and crimson upholstery. He raised an eyebrow in amusement of the odd setting. He concluded that Hermione must've dragged two chairs out of the dining room neighboring the kitchen. The dining room was secret and was made for professors who cared to dine late in the night. The table had collected a good bit of dust for the dining room was often neglected.

Zabini figured that Hermione must've been let into the dining room, being a favourite among most elves (and others, an enemy). She must've dragged out two chairs and set them in front of the ratty table. Why two? He shrugged this off before wondering if he was taking the place of someone else.

When he sat down Hermione cast an aggravated look at him. He smirked arrogantly and his hand absentmindedly reached up to brush wild curls from his face. Hermione argued inside her head why the concieted Slytherin had to smirk so much. Didn't he smile? Didn't he frown? Did he ever find melancholy or blithe in anything? Or was it just one egotistical game to him?

"How do we do this lovely morning, Granger?" he asked nonchalantly. Hermione mumbled something incoherent and took a long swig of her coffee seeing Zabini doing the same earlier and thought it had cooled. But her more sensitive tongue was not as trained as Zabini's and she spat her coffee out into her cup with a whimper.

"Not so good? Hmm, me neither," he said without a smirk as he took a long sip of his coffee not taking his eyes off of her steady glare. Hermione set her cup down while holding the ridiculous paper towels to her tongue. She removed the towels and looked at him somewhat civilly.

"What are you doing here?" she mumbled, replacing the towels.

"Well, I'm drinking coffee and sitting in the middle of the Hogwarts kitchen talking to the castle's most prestigious student. How about you?"

Hermione seemed slightly confused at the game he was playing. She set the crumpled napkins down. She paused before responding. "I am drinking coffee sitting in the middle of the Hogwarts kitchen talking to the castle's most... unnoticable student," she said quite honestly. She was going to note that he was egotistical but the only thing she had ever took note of was his quiet demeanor but arrogant air. She couldn't say egotistical with honest heart.

He blinked at her. "Well, that's not much insult to injury," he said, just blinking. "I'm disappointed."

Hermione looked at him. "I don't have much of a quarrel with you, now do I?"

"I would've thought otherwise basing on the moment I walked in here. All it's been is glaring and incoherent mumbling. Besides, I would expect nasty and offensive snapping in response to 'prestigious,'" he said, slouching lazily in his chair and looking at her through the dark curls that siwlred irritatingly into his eyes. _Yes, they _swirled, Hermione thought, annoyed.

"Depends on what you mean by prestigious," she said, looking down into her coffee.

Zabini looked at her and took a moment on whether or not he should take the challenge.

"By being stuffy, untouchable, far too literate, and quiet perpetual," he said simply and flatly. He didn't know if he regretted the words or not the moment he started them. Once her head snapped up and her brown eyes drew forward in fury, he knew he didn't make a mistake.

"Zabini, do you honestly think that you have any right at all to make such a conclusion? In all of our six years here, can you honestly say we've had a conversation in which you can make your own opinion in how I am? I wouldn't have thought you so low as to come to such a conclusion," she spat out with a tone as hot as her swirling drug.

Zabini straightened and leaned over the table. "And what about you Granger? What about those accusations that float around in your little head? Egotistical and naive about the real world. Arrogant with the prize of wealth and ignorant with the poison of my own house. Conceit is what I'm about and narrowmindedness is what my mind is conformed to," he said spitefully. "Can you honestly say that you have an original opinion about me?"

Hermione's mouth paused in surprise and she couldn't force out a reply. Hadn't that been what she was thinking just moments before?

Zabini stared at her for a while, even when her mouth closed and her eyes left him. After it was evident she wasn't going to say anything he leaned back into his chair. Hermione looked up and was nearly disappointed to see the expected smug mask painted on his face. Instead his face was placid and his eyes were glued to one of the tears in the old card table. For a moment her conscience grew metallic and thudded against the back of her mind with guilt. But the rage of his stereotypical accusation that was often a nemisis for her insecurity bounced against her heart in eager anger. But she kept silent and took a sip of her cooled coffee.

He finished off his coffee and stared at the bottom for a while. "Well, I do converse with a Malfoy. That serves excuse for both of our triviality," he said without and spite or guilt. He flicked his eyes up to hers and held them before she looked away. She supposed the comment was meant to be a reconcilation or a humorous input, but the comment only had her conscience thudding against her skull once again. She set her jaw and kept from saying anything. She drank idly and her eyes made conversation with the grey concrete on the wall.

She didn't even know he got up and set his cup on the counter before she heard his nonchalant "goodnight." She she turned her head to see the portrait sway slowly to a close with a small knock. She sighed.

She didn't know why she felt so bad for, well, what did she do? Not much of anything. Then why did she feel so bad? She relayed it to the pity-party she had been having for the past week every evening at three in the morning. She rubbed her eyes with her long fingers, drawing out the drying goops from the corners of her eyes. She set her half-empty cup on the counter deciding to rid herself of the oncoming headache was a good idea. Not that she was going to get any sleep to begin with.

* * *

AN- 12/26/06- Okay- a year later, and the first chapter has finally been edited. Thank God. Please review. 


	2. Newts Have No Squeamish Properties

Disclaimer: If I was as genius as J. K. Rowling I promise you I wouldn't be where I am now. Characters aren't mine, setting or anything you recognize is not mine. I'm pretty sure the plot is mine though. 

Or _Madame Bovary_. Yeah. Not mine either. Just borrowing that. That's Gustave Flaubert's

Summary: She likes her coffee with cream and sugar. He likes his strictly black. That's only the beginning of their differences. 3 AM every morning, a cup of coffee each, buzzed on the caffeine and the energy of their conversation.

**-Chapter Two-**

_Newt Tastebuds Have No Squeamish Properties_

AN- Thank you all who reviewed. I appreciate it more than anything. And those who didn't thanks for reading anyway. So here we go. The second chapter. VOILA

* * *

It was mid-November and the leaves had just begun to change a week ago. The months of September and October were considered an Indian summer with abnormal warm temperatures streaming into the first week of November. Then the weather took a drastic change into freezing nights and day temperatures in the mid-fifties. Students walked the grounds in light jackets and thin scarves for the slight bit of extra warmth needed for comfort.

Hermione took an immoderate delight in autumn and was disappointed in the late coming of the chilly winds and picturesque leaves. She picked out a smell in autumn, the crisp smell the withering leaves left. The only part of autumn she did not relish in was the bringing of winter.

She longed for the cold temperatures and the warmth of thick jackets. She had a major scarf and sweater fetish, owning several of each. But she was definitely cold intolerant. She hated the biting discomfort the freezing temperatures left. She didn't care much for snow or any winter precipitation for that matter.

She enjoyed some mediums of winter, the Holidays for example, or the aridness of the air, and she even liked the iced-over pond. However, the strong cold overwhelmed everything and made her detestable and grumpy.

Early one morning, a few days after meeting Zabini in the kitchens, Hermione was contemplating the horrors of winter. She was sitting in her window seat with a very large thermos of coffee in her hand. The sunrise was golden and bright, indicating that the day would be overcast and chilly.

Nevertheless, she sat and admired the colors that had just begun to arrive. The large trees of the forbidden forest seemed to glow. Maybe the mystical glow was because of the many remarkable creatures that called the forest home. Or maybe it was the long wait for the colors to change that her eyes were exaggerating, but to her, the forest was magnificent. She was radiating happiness watching the dawn grow to morning. Her thoughts tended to change rapidly, like a slideshow each with one thing in common. The gallant view of the forest made her think of Halloween. Thoughts of Halloween brought thoughts of the Halloween Ball. The thought of the Halloween Ball made her cheeks glow red in indignation and humiliation. She blinked that memory away and replaced that slide with another.

The red leaves reminded her of Ron whom she had to remind to finish his homework at the breakfast table today. Homework reminded her that there was a Potions essay due next Tuesday. Potions always reminded her of bubbles, which she didn't know how she took on the connection. And bubbles made her think of a bath. It was around six in the morning, and to Hermione Granger a bath sounded wonderful.

* * *

Hermione was one of the firsts to enter the Great Hall even with her early-morning bath escapade. She had decided to bring a book to keep her company until the rest of the world actually dragged themselves from their pillows and bed sheets. There were a few students scattered among the house tables. But next to that, the Hall was silent.

After she grabbed a bit of fruit, porridge and toast, Hermione picked up _Madame Bovary_, the famous, classic French novel. She flipped to her spot and ate slowly while she enjoyed the neatly translated and pretty-worded pages. After a chapter, Ginny sat down in front of her with generously lethargic motion.

She snatched up Hermione's book and read the back. "'An excellent depiction of a woman's fantasy and duty in the world through explicit sex and adultery'," Ginny read aloud. She raised her eyebrows. "Hermion-eey," she exclaimed.

Hermione flushed and snatched the book away from Ginny. "It so happens to be a _classic_," she mumbled.

Ginny giggled. "I'm sure it is. That's one to save for vacation and vacation only," she said, helping herself to some pumpkin juice.

"Oh, Ginny. It's not like that. It happens to be beautifully written," she said matter-of-factly.

"Oh, really? Madame Bovary? Sounds French to me. How do you even pronounce the author's name?" She squinted at the front of the book. "Gust-of Flaw- bert?" she attempted.

Hermione shrugged. "I'm not sure. But I think the R and the T are silent," she suggested.

Ginny scrunched her nose. "It's French. Sounds smutty to me," she said, biting into her apple.

Hermione glared and Ginny giggled again.

"So, other than harlots and rich, aspiring women, what have you been up to lately?" Ginny asked. "You've been somewhat of a recluse lately," she said lightly. Ginny had a habit of saying blunt things in a way that came off as subtle.

Hermione pursed her lips. "I don't know. I haven't been my best this past week. I've been a bit down, but today seems to be starting off as an okay day," she said with an easy smile.

Ginny smiled eagerly. "Yeah, with book in hand and everything; you haven't had one in a while. Even if it is scandalous and plenty full of inappropriate things, it's a book nonetheless. And that makes me feel a whole lot better."

"Yeah, Monie, you have no idea how weird it was to see you without a book for a week. All you seemed to do was listen to what we had to say. You didn't constantly put us down or correct our grammar. I do believe Ron talked with his mouth full on purpose just to get something out of you. It was weird." Harry sat down next to Hermione just a moment before he started his testimony.

Hermione resisted the urge to scoff. "Well, Harry, I sincerely apologize for being a kind listener and a modest non-chastiser," she said dryly.

"There we go," Ginny said with a smug smile.

Hermione smiled back then shrugged. "I don't know. Last week was just a hard week, I suppose. But I'm good now. Back to reading my good ol' books and being a mother to your guys' essays."

Ron sat next to Ginny. "Essays? I'd rather talk about something else this morning," he inserted randomly. "Wait, what about essays?'

"Oh, nothing Ron. Hermione just offered to redo every essay we have for the rest of the year until you came to the table and so rudely ruined everything," Harry said in a mock, irritated tone.

"Kidding?" Ron said timidly. "Right?" He paused. "Please?"

Hermione laughed. "No redoing essays for me. Not even an offer has crossed my mind. Instead, I must be going. I'll see you guys later in Potions. Oh, Ron, homework," she said as she gathered her stuff and dumped it into her bag.

She grasped an apple for later in the afternoon. Ron nodded briefly and she smiled at everyone once more before leaving the Hall, which was considerably more full and noisy since she had entered. The corridors were quiet on the contrary. She shut her eyes for a moment in brief appreciation.

She was being truthful about feeling better, but silence was something she was growing to love. She had yet to understand if these late night addictions were any good for her. This was her excuse for going to the kitchens all but once for the past three nights. The two other nights she had been too embarrassed to get up to get the drug her mind clearly craved. She knew the addiction was as physical as it was mental. She enjoyed and craved the late night conversations in her mind and the silence of just her. But whether or not she was embarrassed of her addiction or her encounter the three nights before, she wasn't yet willing to confirm. She was too proud to admit her behaviour was irrational.

Quickening her pace, she decided for a moment alone in her dorm before classes started. There she would write and contemplate her position here. She always loved to reconsider the possibilities of her current opportunity. It was, what you could say, a habit.

As she rounded the corner, she saw a figure walking lazily up from one of the staircases from the dungeons. She noticed the head of black curly hair and long profile. She pretended she didn't see him as she crossed his direct line of sight, avoiding his eyes in case he were to look up. She turned onto the staircase that lead upwards and continued to pretend to be alone.

As she was directly above him she couldn't help but look down, but he didn't seem to notice her. Not even in his peripheral vision. She continued upwards with an odd sort of anger in her stomach. _Prestigious_, she scoffed in her head. _How dare he._

* * *

**_Coffee Morning Buzz Worthy- Or Just Pathetic?_**

**November 14, Monday.**

_Situation? Nothing too contemplative. We haven't necessarily crossed each other before. So, why worry. Yes, with a period, not a question mark. I don't really seem to find that a question. "Why Worry" has never really been a question. It's the same with "Why Not". Unless you are trying to persuade a young, naive child into a promiscuous situation with wildly scandalous transitions of vomit bags and cherry flavored cotton candy. What is cotton-candy flavored? Is it really just spun sugar or does the pink fluff taste different from the blue fluff? And what's with the yellow cotton candy? Oh, right._

_Situation: Delicious late night escapades have been interrupted by insanely rude and arrogant Slytherin with frank accusations and delusional concepts. What to do? _

_**1. Castration.** Magic makes this episode much easier than the traditional (is it African? Dictionary!...is of no help) concept. Although this is a pleasantly violent thought, it is much too drastic and wouldn't permanently prevent Frank Slytherin from interruption of quiet mornings alone. Pride alone would be affected. And he'd be a terrible eunuch. That's no fun. _

_**2. Blackmail.** What's there to blackmail? That he steals strictly black coffee from unsuspecting house elves with delirious night caps and harasses young, innocent _prestigious _girls in the middle of the night? That actually might be a keeper. _

_3. **Have a Violent Case of Schizophrenia in the Presence of Frank Slytherin to Ensure the Absence of his Attendance for All of Forever.** Maybe. I shall call my alter ego Billy who has an unsightly amount of chickenpox. Could have a spasm in which I can't stop scratching, then speak of how blonde headed bimbos are a bunch of squibs with an inconsequential amount of money to pay for charms of smart alter egos that actually seem like their wands are working. Maybe throw in a bit about how Transfiguration is a bit difficult on this random occasion. Too random? I thought so too. _

_**4. Leave Delicious Late Night Escapades Alone. ** Please don't let it come to that. I might cry._

_**5. Deal With Him.** Never. _

* * *

Hermione snapped the book shut and shoved it under her mattress. She might be late if she didn't leave now. She packed her stuff and made sure her book was nowhere in sight. That book was a small out-of-character part of her that she would rather not share with anyone. Besides, most of it was irrationally absurd.

She hurried out of her dorm into the empty common room and down to the dungeons. The corridors were considerably busy, but the crowd was a bit thinner than it would have been if she were nowhere near close to being late. But as it was, she had about three minutes to dash down three flights of stairs and power walk through two corridors.

Hermione Granger was never late, so practically she made it about thirty seconds before the bell rang. She slid into her seat next to Harry only a tiny bit breathless.

"Merlin, 'Monie, you run from the astronomy tower to make it?" he asked as he set up the cauldron.

Hermione took one long deep breath. "Nah, just the dorm. Lost track of time."

Harry just nodded as the bell rang, cutting off anything he would've said. Snape floated in on cue as usual with his general sneer. He pattered on about a potion Hermione looked into about two weeks ago. She pretended to listen and followed his hand on the chalkboard as she drifted off to think about nothing in particular. She was pretty placid and not much in a mood to challenge Snape on his aggressiveness to prove her wrong. She simply did what she was told throughout the brewing.

"Where are you, Hermione?" Harry asked suddenly.

"Huh?" Hermione uttered with an unladylike demeanor.

Harry almost laughed. "Where are you? As in your thoughts. You've been a bit Lovegoodish today," he said as he added newt taste buds.

"Oh. Yeah, I don't know. I just didn't feel like listening to Snape today. As opposed to normal," she mumbled, dropping her voice so that only Harry could hear her.

He smiled. "No kidding. I'm glad you know what you're doing, I wasn't listening either," he said, looking at her as he brushed off the taste buds that stuck to his fingers.

Hermione looked at his hands and wrinkled her nose. Harry followed her gaze.

"Appetizing, eh?" he noted as Hermione made the move for dicing the leftover tongues separately, trying to get as far away from his hands as possible.

Harry noted this and laughed. "Here ya go," he said as he wiped his hands on the side of her apron.

Hermione groaned. "You couldn't have just used the gloves, could you?" she said with lack of appeal in her voice.

"Squeamish, 'Monie?" he said, laughing at the tiny pink dots that now speckled her apron. Hermione shook her head as she started slivering the thin tongues into smaller strips. "Besides, I didn't use the gloves for the same reason you're not using yours now. Dragon hide's too bloody clumsy."

Hermione laughed. "Language, Potter," she teased. "What would you do if the newts were poisonous?" she inquired.

"Slaughter the living hell out of those tongues"

* * *

On the way out of Potions, Hermione happened to bump all-too-carelessly in to a tall, dark stranger who was trying to beat her to the door. When she looked up, and believe it, she had to look up, she was unpleased to see who it was. She frowned at him as he looked down at her with an uncaring glance and slipped out of the door in front of her.

"Zabinis, they act like they own the world," she muttered.

"As in plural? What other Zabini do _you_ know?" Ron asked. Hermione shook her head.

"His arrogance makes up for ten of them," she grumbled irritably.

"And you know this? Ever talk to the bloke?" Harry asked on the other side of her. Hermione took a moment to answer. _Was that really a valid conversation?_

"Well, sort of. In a way, I suppose. Besides, when have you two ever been moralistic in judging people, huh?" she snapped. Harry and Ron raised their eyebrows and didn't say anything, just followed Hermione to their next class.

* * *

It was one thirty in the morning and Hermione was in the common room idly working on her Potions essay. On a piece of paper with her notes, she was doodling images of pumpkins and lilies with random newts and curlicues. She couldn't seem to concentrate. She normally didn't head down to the kitchens until later in the morning, but she felt she needed a bit of fuel to help her on this particular essay/doodle fest.

She gathered her stuff and threw it into her bag carelessly save the scroll. She rolled it up neatly and carried it in her hand. She clipped her Prefect badge to her tank top for the sake of just in case she was caught. Not that she ever was. She made sure of it. But it was always in her nature to be sure and safe.

She slipped her bag over her shoulder and quietly glided out of the portrait into the dark halls. She heard the portrait groan at her like the Fat Lady did every time. She never said anything to Hermione after the one incident where Hermione told her off and made sure that the portrait had nothing to say to her anymore in her late night escapades. Hermione heard a mumble from behind her, she cast a dark glare at the portrait, and the Fat Lady shut her eyes and made nothing more of it.

Hermione walked barefooted along the halls of the castle. Her hand glided along the rough and jaded stone of the walls and let her trained eyes lead her through the midnight lit corridors. She was often worrisome about walking out this early. When it was three in the morning, she was trusted to never run into any teachers then. No teacher in their right mind patrolled that late. But now, because she had left so early, if she had a run-in with a teacher she would be forced to dodge them. Tonight she didn't have any trouble. It took her eight minutes to get to the kitchens without any interruptions.

But when she walked into the kitchens, she found Dobby already busy serving someone else. She paused in the portrait way and made a small sound when the heavy portrait closed and hit her from behind. The portrait was about three feet taller than her and about three times as large, therefore very heavy. The motion and contact had her sprawling across the floor completely eliminating the option of leaving unnoticed.

"Lord, Granger. You're a bit clumsy," a voice said in an expected drawl. Hermione had put out her hands to catch her unexpected fall. She pushed herself up to a sitting position, tucking her legs under her. She rubbed her wrists, making sure she didn't sprain or break either one. As she did this, she looked up at Zabini to see his face plastered with a _very_ amused grin. He had stood up from his seat and seemed to be trying not to laugh, his mouth twisting into a series of smirks, grins and half-smiles. Hermione scowled at him while she shooed Dobby away, who was currently trying to assist her up. When this didn't work, he went and gathered her bag and gingerly picked everything up and handed it to her. She thanked Dobby, took the bag from him, and stood up.

"Can Dobby get the Missus Hermione anything?" he asked. Even Dobby seemed amused by her tumble. Hermione shook her head.

"No, I'll just be leaving now," she said emotionlessly to Dobby.

"Oh, Miss Granger. Please stay. Entertain us some more," Zabini said with his usual smirk on cue. Hermione shot him a glare.

"Sorry, Zabini. I'm not interested in being tonight's plat du jour," she spat dryly. Zabini stared at her with a bored expression.

"English would do just fine," he said. He didn't really sound amused. _Score one for Granger_. She looked up at him. _Whoops. Score_ _minus for Granger._

"Umm... well, I'm pretty sure it means...plate or something of the day. It's just a saying. Main attraction. So much for your high society's high education."

"I beg your dearest and sincerest pardon, Granger. I am so deeply ashamed that I have been trained in Latin, Italian, Spanish, German and Farsi but have failed to reach your high expectations of missing out on French," he said with the highest amount of sarcasm she had ever heard expressed in her life.

She was surprised. He outdid her. She kind of just stared at him unknowing what to say. His eyebrow was raised expectantly and one glace at that eyebrow, caused frustrated anger to rise in her stomach. He was _insufferable_.

"Right, main attraction. Not exactly my area of expertise," she spat out with irritated undertones. She didn't want to hear what he would say next, so she started turning on her heel to head out the door. But his overly-domineering voice and perpetually arrogant and undertone vocals rang out to stop her in her tracks.

"Oh, I'd say differently. The entire school probably would too," he drew out, not really entailing what he meant. But Hermione had a pretty good idea. She turned around with a very unamused and heated look on her face.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked slowly. Her jaw was already clenched and she drew in a hot breath to prepare herself.

"Oh." He shrugged. "I'd say somewhere around October, that fall holiday. Halloween? Yeah, that," he drawled out way too slowly.

Hermione's face grew hot and her lips pursed into a thin white line. The anger was being eliminated from her face and turning into acid humiliation.

"The Halloween Ball? What a show," he mused aloud.

"Don't be such a prick," she hissed. "You have no right to bring that up. You and your bloody friends and your bloody arrogance with your heartless efforts to attack a girl to a point of humiliation. To laugh at me for something _you_ did." Zabini's face hardened. "What makes you think I had anything to do with that?" he offered effortlessly.

"Everything," she stated simply, her face still red with indignation. "Oh, really? I always thought you to be a little more intelligent, Granger," he said, walking up to her small frame and looking down on her. Her eyes narrowed, and her jaw clenched.

"Don't you dare try to make me feel bad for my blind accusations. One, they're not blind. Two, you are the first one to smack me with something low, insensitive and overly pathetic. So, don't _dare_ make me the bad person. I'm not the heartless, pitiful, arrogant Slytherin who has to steep low enough to hit me with old news," she spat, fighting the urge to jab her index finger into his chest. "I always thought you to be a little more of a gentleman, Zabini," she offered in mimic to his very own words before turning on her heel, seething with anger and hatred. She pushed the portrait open with such force that the painting smacked against the wall it was hinged to.

* * *

AN- Oiy- Second chapter. FINALLY. I know. And I'm pretty proud of it's length. And it's plot line. I definitely need a little help on the humor. In your reviews please comment on the "lame factor" of my humor. It's one of my major goals for this story. To excercise my ability to write humorous plots. Anything else is DEFINITELY appreiciated. Love forever and ever. Flames are basically allowed. Just expect me to bite back.

* * *


	3. Bunnies, Hairspray and Cristiano Ronaldo

Disclaimer: Disclaimed.

**Summary: Summary: She likes her coffee with cream and sugar. He likes his strictly black. That's only the beginning of their differences. 3 AM every morning, a cup of coffee each, buzzed on the caffeine and the energy of their conversation.**

AN- Oh, my goodness. My readers have doubled. I am so excited. You guys are amazing. Thanks everyone for your reviews. They mean the world to me.

**

* * *

**

**-Chapter Three-**

_Fluffy Bunnies, Exploding Hairspray and Cristiano Ronaldo_

Hermione didn't forget in her anger, the dangers of storming in a flurry of rage and hatred through the dark halls of Hogwarts. Oh, no. She was Hermione Granger, Prefect, and head of her class. She would not see to it that her reputation was tarnished by the impeccable, foul boy that was Blaise Zabini.

She was undoubtedly furious. Of all people to point that out and leave her stripped. She shook her head as she wrung her hands. Her hands? Didn't she have something in her hands? She touched her bag that was hanging down and bouncing gingerly by her hip.

She thought back to what she was doing before her tirade with Zabini. She needed a new name for him. A mean, terrible nickname for him that she could refer to him in her mind. What did she call him in that stupid dairy entry?

Frank Slytherin? _Oh dear_. She was so lacking creativity.

. She was so lacking creativity. 

Wait. Looking for something. What was it? Oh. OH!

Hermione looked around frantically, flipping around her books looking for her scroll, her potions essay. She groaned when she didn't see it.

She leaned against the wall and tapped her head against it lightly. A concussion wouldn't really help her in this sense. It could in a morbid sense in which all she did was see stars for the next week until Wednesday where she would be... no. That wouldn't work either. Violence was not an option.

Hermione glanced down the hall. She had already ascended the four flights of stairs and only had two more corridors to walk through before she would be in her dorm.

She ran her hand through her snarled hair. She bounced between decisions of abandoning the scroll, returning tomorrow night in hopes that the house elves would keep in safekeeping, or going to get it now.

Choice One- Was plausible, to say the least. But more work than necessary. She was more that three-fourths done and if she didn't go and get it, she'd actually have to do it when all of the other students did theirs. She couldn't bear that. She was very proud of this essay. Besides it was a part of her midterm final. Redoing the essay would be detrimental.

Choice Two- The house elves might sabotage her essay in attempt to get her back for her help. Help. Right. Or it might be ruined in some scary accident with spaghetti sauce or morning porridge. That'd be even more humiliating. But, more likely. She could always copy from her original score.

Both scenarios saved her from ever re-encountering the arrogant son of a bitch that humiliated her _twice_, both times embarrassing her on the same concept. Both scenarios kept her from having her anger pitching over the edge into a red-faced oblivion of unladylike words and careless remarks. Both scenarios were moronically safe.

Dear God, Hermione, just go get the scroll, she told herself. You _may be pissed as hell, but you don't even have to say anything. Just walk in there, find the scroll and leave. Maybe Zabini was just as pissed off as you and left in his own flurry of fury and catastrophe that is perpetual Slytherin behaviour. _

, she told herself. You 

As Hermione made her way down the corridor, she thought to her self, _My, my Hermione. You are so stereotypical._

Hermione found herself in front of the portrait of many colors and shapes. She decided to study this rather large piece of work in a very dark corridor at two in the morning, wearing purple plaid pajama bottoms, a white tank top, a very misplaced Prefect badge and a worried frown.

She cocked her head to the side to gaze a rather large pineapple. Of which was larger than the moderately sized pumpkin on the other side.

What was with the 'pumpkins'? Hermione mused.

She bit her lip in a not-so-subtle grimace as she studied the perfect ripeness of a bright yellow banana with a slight tinge of green on the edges. She blinked forcefully and looked at the ceiling. Studying this portrait for real for the first time might have been a little more practical in the daylight. But instead, she was studying, gazing and at the same time, trying to listen for any movement caused by a certain big-headed prat within the kitchen.

"Okay, Hermione. Just do this. If he's in there, then he's in there. If he's not. Perfect. But if you stand out here any longer, he'll eventually come out whether or not it's now or six in the morning, and you'll be knocked to the floor for the second time in this hour. By the same painting. Now if you're trying to save your dignity, standing out here definitely isn't doing it for you," Hermione whispered to herself.

She stepped aside and tickled the pear with a hesitant stroke. The portrait immediately swung open. She thought about closing her eyes, but leaning over timidly and peeking a look did just fine. Until she saw a black-haired, slouch-positioned, and amused-looking student peering from over his coffee up and udder his unruly hair.

"Dammit," Hermione heard herself say.

She leaned back over the wall still not inside the kitchen. The portrait remained open, still waiting for her to enter. Why couldn't it have done that when she was standing in the middle of the frame-way?

Hermione grumbled to herself, counted to three, bit her tongue from saying anything about the previous argument and told her temperament to just shut up.

She stepped out from the corner and didn't meet Zabini in the eye. She walked into the room and heard the portrait shut behind her.

Useless, I'll be out of here in two seconds. Just have to find the scroll.

She looked in front of her, eyes scanning the gray tiled floor, but she didn't see anything. She then looked behind herself to see if it had rolled into a corner behind her. She did this a couple of more times, and not until Zabini spoke did she realize she was spinning in circles.

"Granger, looking for something?" he asked collectively.

Hermione's eyes snapped up to his and a little absentmindedly she shook her head. She walked over to the door next to the table and pushed open the brown swinging door to see if it happened to roll in there during her fall. No such luck.

Ignoring Zabini's never hesitant gaze, Hermione got on her hands and knees and looked under the table for it, again, no such luck.

She did happen to see that Zabini was wearing dark sweat pants that rose just above his ankle to reveal a dark strip of skin and unruly hair. She didn't know what to think of it, or why it phased her, because body hair certainly was normal, especially on guys in fact. With the whole not shaving thing and the puberty thing. Oh, that's why she was rambling.

Suddenly, Zabini's head popped into her view. "You _sure_ you're not looking for something? I have a feeling if you don't see it under a three by three table under two seconds, then it's probably not under there. What ever is it that you're looking for," he offered. Was he being _civil_?

Hermione stood up quickly, ignoring what he had to say. She walked farther into the kitchen among the unique kitchen tools only found in a kitchen that housed hundreds of witches and wizards. She didn't find it in any nook and cranny. She turned around and looked at Zabini.

"Okay, where is it?" she said in a tone that was meant for no arguing.

Obviously, Zabini didn't get the hint. "You know Granger, you'd be very good in business. Where'd you learn to speak so forcefully?" he said, placing his chin on one fist. Hermione glowered at him.

"You know Zabini, you have a terrible knack for being an insufferable prat. Now, I know you have it. Where is it?" she said, putting her hands on her hips unconsciously.

She saw Zabini's eyes flicker to her hands and didn't answer. She glanced down at her hands and huffed. She placed them by her sides but replaced her glowering stare on Zabini.

She must have seemed to be looking for an answer because he said, "I don't know Granger. Seeing as I have no idea what you are talking about," he said quizzically.

"I've looked everywhere. I came here with it and I left without it. It has to be in this kitchen. And since it's not here, you have to have it," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Granger, maybe informing me out of your misguided accusations," he paused, "to what exactly I have stolen," he emphasized the last few words with a little force. Hermione cast an 'I'm-not-amused-at-this-game' look and shifted weight from one foot to another.

"My potions essay. The scroll. When I fell." Zabini smirked at these words. "I dropped my potions essay, and I forgot to grab it. Now, it seems that it has so _mysteriously_ disappeared. Now, save us the valuable sleep time and just give me the essay so we both can serve our nights peacefully."

"It seems to me that blaming me for your forget-fullness isn't exactly the most moralistic way to go. And besides, you don't seem like the one who goes back to your dorm and sleeps," he said, abandoning his coffee cup and standing up out of his chair.

"I'm not blaming you for my forget-fullness!" Hermione cried. "I am simply accusing you of stealing my essay!" she exclaimed. She paused at the slight absurdity of her words. Zabini cocked an eyebrow.

"Why would I steal your essay?" Zabini asked effortlessly.

"I-I-" Hermione stuttered.

What would be the point of him stealing her essay? It was basically a fruitless act. Despite the fact that she was head of the class and that essay would be worth the top grade for their final. But due to modesty, she wouldn't admit that out loud. She had no earthly idea of how well he did in potions.

"Exactly," he stated.

He then sat down and continued to sip his coffee staring ahead. He had proved his point, what more was there to say. But Hermione still stood dumbstruck in the middle of the kitchen. Then where was it? She didn't really believe him, did she? Did she?

She didn't know what to say. She could press him until he fessed up the scroll, but why did he keep it? She started to bite the loose skin on the top of her thumb's knuckle. A habit she had formed sometime between starting at Hogwarts and the insane stress her two best friends put her through.

Zabini looked up at her. "Are you going to just stand there and suck your thumb, or do you care for a cup of coffee?"

At the moment the words were said, Dobby entered lazily dragging his feet and his eyelids.

"Dobby can help Missus Hermione," he mumbled. Hermione couldn't send him back with nothing to do. She might as well have woken with a purpose instead of in vain.

"Uh... Dobby, I'll have the usual. Only a half a glass, please," she said quietly, throwing a fierce look at Zabini who merely shrugged.

Dobby picked up his pace and hurriedly gathered her cup of coffee adding her usual amount of sugar and cream. He handed her the tall, half-filled, dark red coffee mug. Hermione smiled gratefully and took the cup with both hands. Dobby shuffled off to sleep as Hermione turned around awkwardly. She might as well drink it. She morosely crossed the room to sit down in front of Zabini.

"Don't look like you'll have to decide whether or not to destroy the world with nuclear bombs or Unforgivables. It's just a cup of coffee," Zabini said quite bitterly.

"It's not the coffee, it's..." she started hotly, but trailed off quietly, not willing to be difficult.

Zabini gave her an odd look. Almost like the civility discomforted him. Hermione shot him a look to say, 'don't get used to it, it won't happen again.'

Zabini shrugged. Hermione thought that maybe if she sat here with him for a while, he might forgo her essay. Which he HAD to have.

She took a hesitant sip of coffee, but the liquid was much to hot for her and burnt the sensitive skin on her lips. She made a sharp, high-pitched noise and set the coffee cup down.

Zabini had that same amused smirk on his lips when she looked up for a brief moment. She reached over into her bag and took out her wand. She muttered a cooling spell and stirred her coffee with her wand for a few moments.

She removed her wand and grabbed a napkin (yes, with the dancing pumpkins) to wipe the coffee from it. She was very aware of Zabini watching her every move but decided that looking up at him was unnecessary.

She tested her coffee to find that it was a perfect temperature. She took a longer sip and while her face was partially concealed by her cup, she allowed her eyes to flick over to Zabini. His eyes weren't fixed on her anymore but now on the same cuts that the table exemplified.

She began to grow weary and the air became more awkward and uncomfortable. She drank her coffee with some haste to end the night as soon as possible, but even with her paced drinking and half cup, Zabini finished before her. He picked up his cup and walked to the counters. Hermione watched him as far as her peripheral vision allowed, and when she heard the portrait swing open, she swung around.

"Where are you going?" she asked. Zabini turned to her.

"I don't know about you, but-" He looked at his wrist watch "A quarter after two in the morning is about a good time to go to sleep," he said with a bit a mocking tone.

This caused Hermione's demeanor to become rigid. "What about my essay?" she asked, as if it were plain.

"What about it? I don't have it," he said, stepping out. "Goodnight, Granger," he said just as the portrait closed.

Hermione's eyes were wide.

Go after him! He has to have your essay, she told herself.

Her eyes cast down to her bag on the floor. She contemplated looking once more, something she was too proud to do in Zabini's presence. She shook her head and began drinking her coffee again. But when the nagging thought of having to redo her essay over again, had her digging through her bag.

And to her utter disappointment, embarrassment, and relief, there was her scroll. In a pocket she forgot to pursue in her fury.

Nothing individually interesting happened in the next week. It was just another week at school with grueling homework assignments, idle conversation and one of the rare blissful weeks where nothing tragic occurred.

Hermione decided that going to the kitchens at one thirty in the morning wasn't the best time to go, just in case that was his time to drink coffee. She now just went at three thirty without any company, failing to work on her Potions essay and succeeding at drinking too much caffeine for her body to handle. Somehow she got six hours of sleep in each night. Even if they were at three hour intervals.

It was Thursday evening and Hermione was sitting at dinner, eating a dinner roll. Ginny was chattering on about how Malfoy had done something horrendous to Lavender, which was the reason to why she had been absent for the past three hours.

"Malfoy's gone too," Ron pointed out.

All four of them looked towards the Slytherin table. Hermione had to turn around, as her back was to the table. Sure enough Zabini, Parkinson, Crabbe and Goyle were missing their leader. Hermione frowned at the thought of Zabini being under the rule of Malfoy.

While still turned around, her eyes fixed on the group, she asked, "What did he do?"

When Zabini's eyes flickered up to meet hers, she finally turned around. She looked at the group expectantly.

"Something about parboiling hairspray. There's a lot of rumors floating around," Ginny said.

"Parboiling hairspray?" Hermione scoffed. Ron cast an annoyed look at Ginny.

"She's just kidding. One Ravenclaw got into it real bad with Malfoy, and Lavender got in the way. Multiplication of hexes or something. There's something going around that her bag contained hairspray and one hex including heat, which caused the bottle to blow up. But I doubt it's true," Harry explained.

Hermione nodded. "Anybody seriously hurt?" she asked absentmindedly. The silent week had to close with a dramatic bang.

"No, I don't think so," one person said. She wasn't sure who. She finished her dinner quietly and bid her friends goodbye. Harry caught up with her on the way to the dorms.

"Hey, 'Monie."

"Hullo, Harry. Come to bear me company?" she asked lightly.

"Why of course. These halls of Hogwarts are tedious with danger," he said with a smile. Hermione laughed.

"Tedious? Did you just say tedious? Dear Harry, I am impressed," she said, shifting her bag up on her shoulder. Harry shrugged.

"You said it in the same context before," he said with a mischievous smile. Hermione scoffed then laughed.

"My, my Harry. You _are _an intelligent one," she said shaking her head. Harry pretended to sulk.

"And you're fair-weathered. I'm impressive first then I'm sarcastically intelligent. I think you're trying to injure my pride," he said with a hurt expression.

"It's all in my diabolical plan," she said with a placid face. They came upon the portrait and they stepped in.

"And that would entail, what?" Harry pressed. Hermione spun on him, aghast.

"Harry! The diabolical plan is secret. And not for others to know," she said, narrowing her eyes. Harry laughed at her.

"As long as us surviving and Slytherins becoming extinct is involved," he mumbled joking. Hermione smirked.

"Believe me. The latter is definitely included," she said.

Harry laughed, but then gave her an odd look. "And the for-"

Hermione cut him off with a look that said 'Diabolical. Plan. Secret. Shhh.' Harry held up his hands in surrender. The common room was noisy with talk of Lavender, Malfoy, the end of the term coming up in a little more than a month, and end of term finals.

"Harry, it's too noisy for me. I'm just going to go up and do my work in my room," she said over everybody. It was a lie, because Hermione Granger could work under any conditions, but Harry just nodded without any word as he started up a conversation with Seamus.

Hermione weaved through people and up the stairs to her dorm on the sixth floor.

Thankfully her dorm mate was not in her room, so she had the room to herself for a while. Hermione didn't plan on going out anywhere else that evening. Until early morning at least. So, she dressed in a pair of white sweat pants and an old football AN- Using English terms here. Americans- to not get absolutely confused- just reminding you that I mean soccer league t-shirt from a few summers ago. She pulled her mass of hair back in a sloppy ponytail. She pulled off her knee socks and threw them somewhere on the floor.

She collapsed on her bed. Finally, it was Friday. Blissfully Friday. She laid there for a long time so staring at the canopy and settling in the comfort of her bed.

Her roommate Erica opened the door echoing a loud, tinkling laugh and bidding someone a hearty goodbye. Hermione's eyes shot open and she was greeted with the ceiling.

Whoops.

She sat up lazily to see the blonde closing the door and looking over at Hermione. "Oh, dear, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were sleeping."

"Either did I," Hermione mumbled.

She blinked heavily and looked over at the clock. _Midnight. Ugh_. Hermione sat all of the way up, crossing her legs and rubbing under her eyes.

"Long week, huh?" Erica asked as she threw her things on the floor beside her bed. She sat on the edge of her bed looking anything but haggard. Hermione tried to gain her senses back, she slept hard.

"Uh...yeah. Stressful," she automatically responded.

Erica was one of Hermione's better friends. They had been roommates since third year, this being their third year together. Before Hermione had started her late nights and Erica started dating Colin, they used to stay up late talking about nonsense stuff, morbid stuff, blithe stuff. Many things. But now Erica was spending time out until curfew or in Colin's room and Hermione was always in the common room or in the kitchens.

Erica nodded to Hermione's response. "You going back to bed?" she asked. Hermione shook her head.

"No, I wanted to get some work done until I fell asleep. I'm going to go down into the common room and finish some stuff," she said still sitting on her bed.

Erica nodded. She used to question Hermione and her late nights. She stopped after she got the same answer. It was just commonplace now. Erica stood up and headed for the bathroom.

"I'll probably see you tomorrow," Hermione offered. Erica turned around and smiled and nodded and proceeded into the bathroom. They really didn't talk much anymore.

Hermione reached under her mattress and took out her diary/journal/rambling thing. She grabbed her wand and bag that contained her other books and went down into the common room.

Hermione sat at her favorite table in the corner of the room. The room was dark now, the students all in their dorms. The silence was much of Hermione's thing. There were days when she was lonely and the silence was nothing but a dreary, miserable presence that she couldn't talk to. She felt that tonight might be one of those nights.

She drew her wand and lit the candle on her table. She then re-lit the fireplace to produce more light. Once the room was lit better she pulled out her wand.

She worked on her Arithmancy assignment and found that the project was dreadfully long and just a bunch of busy work. She forfeited the many sheets and left them for another night. They weren't due until Monday anyway. She sighed and set down her quill. Her hands were ink stained so she rid the stains off her hands with her wand.

She looked at her watch. It was one thirty. She winced. An hour and a half and she wasn't done with those Arithmancy problems. Gods, she hate busy work.

She casted a look at her small purple, bound book. The journal was a deep, royal purple with HG inscribed in the corner. There were small and simple designs along the edges, but all in all, the book was plain and worn. It wasn't the first one she owned. It was probably the fourth she filled.

She hadn't really written in the journal since her first encounter with Zabini. She filled in little things that happened. Like how she re-encountered Zabini on Monday and the little incident with her scroll. But all it said was a lot of "Insufferable's", "Prick's", and "Stupidity's."

She glanced at her small book and then to her Potions scroll. She hadn't worked on her essay at all since Monday, but then again, she hadn't really written since Monday. She decided that the less futile act would be writing in her journal. Trying to work on her Potions essay would just result in doodling.

Hermione thought back to her conversation with Harry.

****

Thursday November 17th

Artful Ways in Destroying the Mass Population That Is the House of Slytherin

1. **Mascot. **

Find some inexplicable way to cleanse the world of snakes. Rebreeding hawks multiple times may work. Poison all mice. Or kill all mice. By a separate force? Invent a new disease that kills off all snakes in the world? That might be a difficult thing to do. Not quite illegal as killing off all of the Slytherins in the world. But my point is- Kill the mascot, there is not representative for the house. Therefore no house. Pretty lame.

2. **Rid the World of All Purebreds. **

I'm pretty sure the only way to make this happen is illegal in every country in the world. Besides, it'd wouldn't be effective for another generation.

3. **Q-tip them to Death. **

Seriously, no one really knows the danger of cleaning one's ears. Not only does it affect your hearing permanently but sticking foreign objects into your ear canal is just plain dangerous. Clean Ears...Brain Damage...Clean Ears... Brain Damage. I think the choice is obvious.

Okay... that's a bit off topic.

4. **Humiliation. **

This may be a difficult situation or feat, but it is not impossible. Slytherins have three things. 1) Their vice. 2) Their hair. 3) Their pride.

So, I say we stick them all in a little glass box with fluffy rabbits, baby birdies, teddy bears and no hair gel. Sure enough they will be so deeply ashamed that they will return from the terrible planet they came from to begin with and be forever lost to us. Lost as in not meaning losing something you found. Lost as in stuffing that horrendous sweater in a box forever and sending it out to sea with no hopes in ever 'finding' it again.

Hermione sighed. She felt her creativity draining. She closed the book with a huff. What to do now? She had gotten over four hours of sleep when she dosed off early. Something she hardly got before midnight. Now, she was wired with energy, but no creativity. One more glance at her watch. 2:05.

She twisted her mouth. Was it still too early to go to the kitchens? Maybe. Boredom settled in. She unwillingly grabbed her essay and began to first draft some sentences to begin with the essence of zephyrs' saliva. But the only sentences she got out on her doodles on parchment was: 'The essence of balloons are fantastic episodes of lions goddesses.'

Wait. What? Hermione surrounded this sentence with a misdemeanor of a doodle of X's and curlicues. She tried again.

'The essence of zephyr literacy and the chalk of pygmy monkeys has no idea that the young student was sucking helium.'

Um. I don't think that's quite right. Hermione let her eyes run over the sentence a few times_. Where are these coming from_, she asked herself dully. _At least the first four words are right._

Hermione let her eyes run over the sentence a few times, she asked herself dully. 

'The essence of pygmy monkeys' definite amount of saliva is the maroon tinge that adds a further more capable version of stirring.'

Closer. But not quite right. Seeing as how the subject was just a tad_ bit off._ She sighed. She was getting no where. She gathered her stuff and put it all in her bag. She put the scroll in her bag, just in case another incident were to happen as it did Monday. She found her Prefect badge and put it on.

tad She sighed. She was getting no where. She gathered her stuff and put it all in her bag. She put the scroll in her bag, just in case another incident were to happen as it did Monday. She found her Prefect badge and put it on. 

She slipped out of the common room and made her way to the kitchens.

The walk was the same as it ever was. She was careful in listening and staying against the wall. She often let her mind wander as she walked, enjoying the slants of moonlight that came in through the large windows in certain hallways. The windows were huge, but located near the ceiling of the nearly hundred-foot high walls of the castle.

She loved the windows of Hogwarts. Always sparkling and glistening with wither raindrops, frost, sunlight, or in this case, moonlight. She often feared of getting caught in some of these halls with the large, side-by-side windows on a bright moon like this. There were no shadows to hide in. It was even worse when the ceilings were arches of windows. There was an entire section in _Hogwarts: A History _about the architecture. But it wasn't one of the more memorable chapters in the book. Plus, she'd rather experience the chapter for herself.

When she traveled farther down into the castle, she ached for warmth. The dungeons were often so cold. The windows were also less frequent. She finally reached the main corridor with the kitchens.

She didn't bother listening for anybody, instead she just tickled the pear and walked in. She was very pleased to find that the kitchen was deserted with no arrogant Slytherin in sight.

Dobby rounded the corner and she pitied him. He always woke just to serve her coffee every single morning. Probably twice when Zabini came in. She smiled at him and he shuffled off without a word.

Her stomach gurgled a bit and she called out, "Oh, Dobby, could you possibly get me any rolls left over from dinner tonight?"

He nodded and started busing himself around. Hermione turned around and walked to her table. She sat down in the chair that had her back to the portrait. She pulled out her essay and notes/doodle paper. She looked at her pathetic attempts at starting a sentence. She shook her head at her potential misery.

Okay, so it was more of a pathetic night than it was miserable night. Frankly, she would rather have had her night be pathetic than miserable.

She smiled at Dobby when he set the coffee and platter of five or so rolls on her table. She wouldn't eat them all, and she couldn't tell if Dobby was being generous or saving himself some sleep, but the gesture was nice.

"Thank you, Dobby," she said gratefully. He shuffled off again, nodding.

She took a small sip of her coffee. She was finally getting used to the extremes of hot coffee. The sustenance was mind fuel for her and she immediately could begin on her essay.

She started her paragraph on the note's paper and then copied it to her scroll where she just went ahead and wrote the next three paragraphs until a voice had her dropping her quill, squeaking rather loudly, and whipping around with a hand over her mouth.

Zabini was standing in front of the portrait with his mouth half open in a sentence. Suddenly his voice broke out into a very amused grin and Hermione's hand slipped from her face and her widened eyes narrowed.

"Well, Granger, didn't mean to scare you," he said, looking on the brink of laughing. Hermione tightened her jaw and took a deep breath.

"Don't you ever give any warning?" she asked testily.

Dobby came rushing in obviously worried about Hermione's not-so-subtle scream. But after a quick observation to see that no one was bleeding, that no one was injured and the only new company in the room was Zabini, Dobby disappeared, seeming to be grumbling. Zabini cast an odd look at Dobby's odd entrance and awkward exit, but then refocused his attention on Hermione.

"I wasn't aware that was necessary," he said smoothly. Hermione shook her head irritably.

"It is plain courtesy to warn a person before entering a room," Hermione exclaimed.

"I'm terribly sorry, Granger," he said dryly.

Hermione sighed and turned back to her essay. Dobby came in with the uncalled for, but probably wanted cup of black coffee and handed it to Zabini. Hermione heard him mumble a surprised 'Thank you' before sitting down opposite to her.

She attempted picking up where she left off. She had only about two more paragraphs of this topic, then the conclusion, then she'd be finished. But her train of thought had been deteriorated. She growled in annoyance before placing her quill down and resting her forehead in one hand.

"Everything alright, Granger?" Zabini said with his usual smirk. Hermione couldn't see it, but she could very well hear it.

"Fine," she snapped. Zabini paused for a moment before pressing her further.

"That wouldn't happened to be the essay that I happened to have stolen?" he remarked with a superior tone.

Hermione raised her head with irritation. She didn't say anything, just looked at him, her jaw clenched and her eyes slightly narrowed.

"It isn't, then?" he asked. Hermione straightened, looked down at the table and didn't answer. "Because if it is the scroll I stole, I would immediately like to be informed of the error of my ways. If I have stolen something, I would like to be punished because I've always been told that stealing is of one o-"

"Yes, it's the scroll. That I _accused _you of stealing. That I found in my bag later that night," she snapped, her eyes boring into his. But this was ineffective since such looks of mock and amusement lingered in his eyes.

"Oh, well, then. There's no problem then," he said, but his voice entailed that there _was _a problem. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You are so incredibly arrogant. You could just ask for an apology and I would give it to you," she said in a monotone voice.

He didn't say anything, he just looked at her expectantly. She stared right back at him. She wasn't going to apologize until he made some vocal inclination that she should.

"You know, I was deeply shocked and degraded by your blatant accusations," he said without a single note of morose. Hermione shut her eyes and counted to three.

"Alright, Zabini. I apologize for my blind and wring accusations," she said, trying to sound sincere. She wasn't sure how it _did _come out, but he seemed satisfied.

"Apology accepted," he said nodding. Hermione stared for a moment. He was a bit difficult to work with. Not to mention work around.

She turned back to her essay, but found that she was faced with another case of writers block. She chewed on the end of her quill desperately wishing it didn't taste like baking soda. She was out of Sugar Quills. She decided that next Hogsmeade trip she would find herself an industrial sized box of Sugar Quills that would last her the holidays.

When was the next Hogsmeade trip? Oh, next Sunday. She would have to make sure she had enough for presents and her qu- Zabini had said something.

"Wha?" Hermione said without any eloquence. Zabini smirked.

"Do you like football?" he asked. Hermione just blinked at him. "Your shirt. Football. Do you like it?"

Hermione even had to look down at her shirt. "Oh! Um, no. Wait. Yes, yes. I do. I love it," she stumbled out, looking back up at him.

"Hermione Granger, interested in a sport. With the way you bash Quidditch, I wouldn't have imagined it," he said, seemingly interested.

"It's the same with me and tennis. I don't understand why anyone could be interested in the sport. Why even watch Wimbledon?" she stated. Zabini looked confused.

"Muggle thing," she said shaking her head.

"Well, so is football," Zabini offered. Hermione shrugged.

"Well, do you like it?" she asked. Hermione thought Zabini smiled.

"Yeah, I've played as long as I can remember," he said proudly. Hermione smiled slightly. "So, you don't even like watching Quidditch?" Zabini continued.

"I like cheering for my friends, but I'm just not all into it. I guess it has some relevancy to football and that's why I watch it. But I'll never keep up with the professional teams," she said.

"Do you watch professional football?" he asked.

Hermione nodded. "Well, when I can. My dad tapes some of the good games for me when I'm here at school. I'll watch them in the summertime when I'm not out playing in a league," she said, taking a sip of coffee. "What club do you go for?"

Zabini smirked. "Manchester United of course." Hermione laughed. Zabini glared at her. "What about you?"

"I'm a Chelsea girl myself. But Man U is definitely second when Chelsea's out," she said with a blithe air. "I grew up in the area. That's mainly a reason. Besides, Joe Cole is amazing."

"I'll agree with that. But he's no match to Cr-" Hermione cut him off.

"Don't say Cristiano Ronaldo. If you do, I'll personally remove you from this kitchen," she threatened. Zabini laughed and held up his hands in surrender.

"Then I'll stick with Rossi," he said. Hermione wrinkled her nose.

For the next half of an hour, the two of them talked about how Beckham was a sell out. How Ronaldo's footwork was amazing (Hermione would admit it, not happily, but she would). And how the new Nike billboard of Wayne Rooney was a bit controversial.

* * *

AN- Woo, Second chapter in two days. I am oh-so proud of myself. Not to mention that this chapter is _6,000 _words long. That might not be a lot for you, but for me. It's amazing. My goal was 8,000 then I realized that was a bit unrealistic for me. So I cut it to 5,000. It makes you feel good when you exceed your goal.

And that last part is me interjecting my _loooove _for soccer. Or football. One of those. Both of those. I'm still mad about England's loss to Portugal because of Cristiano freakin Ronaldo . Believe me. He's gorgeous and has fabulous footwork. But my team!

Anybody keeping up with the World Cup? My revenge has been avenged. Portugal lost to France today (basically my entire heritage- sweet, sweet victory). Meaning it's Italy on France. YayYayYay. Next Sunday. Anybody with me?

Anyway. Thanks for reading. Now review? Please.


	4. Marsh of Mallow and PumpkinBalls

**Disclaimer: Disclaimed**

**Summary: She likes her coffee with cream and sugar. He likes his strictly black. That's only the beginning of their differences. 3 AM every morning, a cup of coffee each, buzzed on the caffeine and the energy of their conversation.**

Alright, my lovely readers. To whom I love so very dearly. Life has been a non-motivating thing. I've been on vacation for basically a month. So, it's made my life very disoriented. But I am back to venting everything out through a bunch of keys and black pixels. Even though I am impaired through a series of injuries, including a ripped toenail, a bleeding ring finger (that proves itself persistent and refuses to stop bleeding), and swimmer's ear (my first ear infection- and let me tell you, I am not very happy about it), I am amazingly in a fluff-bunny mood. Even though I am very irked by the fact that knives are jumping out at me, concrete is attacking me, and all of my injuries are on MY RIGHT SIDE, prepare yourself with a whole lot of fluff, loves.

Here ya go my dearies.

* * *

**-Chapter Four-**

_Marsh of Mallow and Pumpkin-Balls_

Hermione woke up groggily the next morning to the buzz of her alarm clock. She was confused to find herself not in her bed, but in the window seat with a terrible crick in her neck. She lifted her head from the cool-paned window and glanced down at her surroundings.

There was a mug of coffee situated between her and the window and her book was still open in her lap. After some squinting, wincing, and comprehension composure, she found the book to be _Madam Bovary_. She rubbed her eyes and picked up her wand that was still illuminated. She muttered the counter-spell and then charmed her buzzing clock silent.

In the room, Erica was heard moaning and tossing over in obvious disapproval of opening her eyes to face the day. Hermione found herself agreeing and cast a look over to bed in thoughts of crawling in under her scarlet comforter.

She then examined her situation and wondered how she ever ended up leaning against the window and drifting to sleep.

Oh, that's right. Another rendezvous in the kitchens. Well, if you can call it a rendezvous. It was. It just happened to be missing the prearranged time and specific obligations part.

The conversation that occurred the previous night, however odd it was (odd being civil of course), went to an uncomfortably early hour and ended in an abrupt silence and short, irritated and dry farewells. Missing the entire good wishing towards the other. The fact that a civil conversation had occurred made the both of them squirm with discontent. Even so, the conversation was a giddy one.

Zabini said he grew up in Oxford where he started football in a league. He didn't say when, but it was obvious that he started young like Hermione. They talked about their injuries and triumphs, Zabini's a little more excessive, extravagant and not-so-humble as Hermione's. They also discussed they're favourite teams and their favourite (and not-so-favourite) players.

However, as abruptly the conversation had started, the conversation died and Hermione found her way here, reading under dim wand light until she evidently and accidentally fell asleep. That gave her about two and a half hours of sleep without the addition of the other four hours of more 'accidental' sleep that occurred before midnight. Hermione was surprised at the amount of sleep she actually obtained. It was more than most nights.

She hopped down from the window seat and tried to shake the rest of the sleep from her. It was easier than expected given that lately, she hadn't gotten much sleep.

She decided that she would skip the kitchens for the rest of the week and actually get some sleep. A good eight hours a night for a few days would catch her up and have her ready for the upcoming mid-term exams. She'd have to live without her coffee fix for a while if it meant passing the course. Not that she was in danger or anything.

A week later exactly, Hermione found herself awake at five in the morning. She was frustrated at this point, because she had been trying to get more sleep, but she only found herself waking up before her alarm clock even had a chance to count down to the point it would buzz. She had been forfeiting her beloved late night escapades for some health matters and her body was refusing her.

She pulled the covers up to her chin and stared at the ceiling of her canopy. This was pathetic. She had always been a light sleeper but never really had difficulty getting to sleep, she just didn't need a lot to run. But she did happen to realize that the past months have been beating her down. Her friends had started to notice. So, now that she _wanted _sleep, what was the deal with not getting it?

She grumbled and violently kicked the comforter back and got up to go to the common room. It was too late (or early) to go to the kitchens. The house elves were probably up now preparing breakfast for a school full of rhinoceroses of males and pygmy monkeys of females. Save the few that weren't bints and had the mind to actually eat. She marched down the stairs, making more noise than necessary. She flopped down onto a couch and mused to herself.

What was really bothering her? The lack of sleep or missing her coffee fix? Or was it the annoying prat that was interrupting her coffee fix? Hermione scowled at this.

Stupid Slytherins. Moronic Slytherins. Monstrous Slytherins. Pathetic fuzzball-eating, squiggles of vice-swallowing, vomit-inducing, queer-as-tinsel, goblins with the qualities of dumbass hyenas. Slytherins.

She avoided bringing up the Football Conversation in her head. It was just a poor judgment that was doomed if it thought it would be the demise of her hatred for Slytherins and all of their raw, pathetic qualities. This was not going to posses her thoughts for all of her life. She tried to think of something else.

Wait- what is today? Friday? Oh, goody.

Dumbledore had given a speech at the Halloween Ball (God forbid) about how Hogwarts was a place of traditions and for reasons unknown, he decided to create a new one. _Because between the Hat Sorting, the Halloween Feast, Holiday Feast, Yule Ball, Triwizard Tournament, Quidditch, and House Cup, Hogwarts certainly didn't have enough traditions, _Hermione remembered passively.

Hagrid had his overgrown garden with each drifting season and ritually, Hagrid had his giant pumpkins each fall. The pumpkins went to use at the Halloween Ball and the Feast this year like every year (save the Halloween Ball, obviously another new tradition). And like every year, there were dozens of left over, mutant-sized, abnormal pumpkins to use.

They were sent to the kitchens to be tackled (literally) by the House Elves to make pies with, but otherwise, pumpkins weren't really useful outside those reasons. Pumpkins weren't necessarily the key to curing World Hunger either.

Therefore, instead of having the mundane teachers do the trying task of getting rid of the pumpkins one eve each year, the staff had decided that the pumpkins would go to a more exciting cause. The students were to exterminate the pumpkins this year.

Consequently, Hagrid seemed to have lost count of his pumpkin seeds, either that or the seeds had a multiplying gene in them, for the pumpkins' number increased by double. Thus produced another tempting gesture to create an activity of orange produce.

The event that was to occur that morning was somewhat of a fair. There were three activities that everyone was to participate in to ensure the success of Dumbledore's wild insinuations.

There were also two others, supposedly 'classic Muggle games' that required signing a sheet to register. Hermione was in neither of these. She, in fact, was wary of the entire morning that was ahead of her. The whole school was. Most of them believed that the day was going to be a childish fest of unentertaining games and hopeless attempts at fun. But the prize in it all was House points and pride. So, people signed up and there was a bit of hype in it all.

Hermione _was_ involved in it, being a Prefect. She had been in charge of organizing the event and suggesting ideas to make it more exciting and in fact, more controversial. She then had to help the evening before, to haul the pumpkins that were near two and a half times her height, and probably fifteen times as wide. The Prefects, Heads, and Professors all helped in levitation charms to get the pumpkins in rows for the next morning's events.

The day did not require the usual uniforms to be worn. In fact, they suggested that the events could be messy and to wear Muggle clothes or old, worthless wizarding clothing. Evidently, pumpkin gunk stained.

The events would last until mid-afternoon with a picnic lunch in between, and a dinner on the lake. The students were perplexed about how this would work, but the Prefects and Heads were sworn to secrecy. No details were allowed except for the two activities the students had signed up for. It was a confidential annual thing, which Hermione didn't understand, but the idea was out of her hands.

She was allowed to participate in the events, in fact, she was forced. And like the rest of the students, she didn't know some of the details. She wasn't sure whether or not to be excited or wary. She shook her head and pulled herself up off of the couch.

Hermione found herself getting excited about the pumpkin festivities. She was just a kid when she participated in Halloween favourites. She was the only one of her female playmates to scope out the gunk (not without squeals of disgust mixed with glee) that made the pumpkin heavy. She remembered sitting out in her sweats of purple and pink, scooping out sloppy messes of cool, sticky and altogether not really appetizing slop on a weeks worth of newspaper, splattering the insides onto the face of the Prime Minister or the Queen.

She also like to salt the seeds with her mother and watch the wet, washed, orange-tinted ovals dry to a crunchy, fresh nibbler. Her parents would then help her carve her pumpkin, then carve their own, normally with depictions of big smiles, even mastering braces once (suggest by May, the eccentric orthodontist). Hermione's pictures normally ended up with squiggly triangles, squa-ircles for noses, and tiny little Chiclets for teeth. She was just happy her parents let her handle a carving knife.

She found it disappointing that she didn't get her annual pumpkin carving when she arrived at Hogwarts, young and still into holiday traditions. She was excited, now at sixteen, that after six years, she'd be doing something with pumpkins other than drinking pumpkin juice daily and poking the filling of the common pies.

After a shower and a couple of hours of silence later, Hermione was wearing her Muggle jeans and a plain blue, over-washed tee that seem to have shrunk after years of neglect. Hermione shrugged and stuffed her football sweatshirt in her bag, knowing very well that the temperatures had dropped in the past week and a too small, too old t-shirt wouldn't help in the warmth factor.

She tied her wet, tangled curls into a messy ponytail. And looked at herself in the mirror. She blinked at her sloppy style and ruffled, tom-boy look. She almost wrinkled her nose. But she always appeared so proper, so she decided smirking at her reflection (who gasped in surprise. Hermione Granger is approving a look so... gross? _Never!)_ was a good way to go.

She shrugged and walked down to the common room, where there were students milling around, now that it was an appropriate hour to actually be up. Hermione spotted Ginny and she waved at her. Ginny was clad in ragged jeans and a even more ragged t-shirt, but she pulled it off as sexy. Hermione wanted to scoff. She looked like a tom-boy. Ginny looked like a model on a coffee run.

Hermione shook her head in distaste. But she walked up to Ginny and greeted her with a smile.

"Morning Hermione," Ginny said brightly. Hermione smiled in return and with a couple of steps, Ginny was following Hermione out of the common room to the Great Hall.

"Excited for this...thing?" Ginny asked. "What _is _it called?"

Hermione laughed. "Hogwarts' First Annual Pumpkin Extermination and Day of Festivities of Over-Populated Pumpkins. We thought it was a bit long, so we shortened it to Pumpkin Day."

"Creative. Are you serious about the first one?" Ginny asked, raising an eyebrow. Hermione nodded solemnly.

"It is painful for me to admit to you that our current assortment of Prefects and Heads have the creativity capacity of a marshmallow."

"A marshmallow?" Ginny gasped in mock horror. "But I absolutely _adore _marshmallows. My dear Hermione, what do you have against the world of mallows of marsh? Wait. Are you blokes those mini marshmallows or the big fluffy ones that Muggles use on those disgusting crackers?"

"Gin, dear, those would be graham crackers, (an 'oh, right' look from Ginny) and I am even more somber to admit that we are those tiny, minuscule marshmallows that are not good for much of anything other than bobbing around helplessly in a cold cup of hot chocolate," Hermione said with an 'it's-so-tragic' look on her face.

"But I love those! The big fluffy ones may be fun. But the tiny ones, now those, are fun stuff," Ginny said as-a-matter-of-factly.

"Oh, really? Pray tell, where does you adoration for pebble-sized marshmallows come from Ginny, dear?"

"The land of mallows of marsh, of course," Ginny stated. She gave Hermione a grin, she was obviously proud of the hopelessly random conversation that had fallen upon the two of them.

They approached the Great Hall which was set up in proper decor. The usual floating pumpkins, orange-themed table decorations, orange, yellow and red hues in rich tones. It was nicely set up; Hermione was just worried about the approach the 'Pumpkin Day' was going into. She shrugged and sat at the house table and eyed the 'Pumpkin Day' associated food.

"Really, the pumpkin is not that appetizing of a fruit," Ginny said with a questioning look at orange colored porridge. She poked it with her spoon, then after getting some sort of disapproving reaction, she opted for the normal porridge.

"I thought the pumpkin was a vegetable?" Ron asked as he sat across from the two girls, Harry after him.

"Gee, Ron, good morning to you too. You would like to be in our conversation?" Ginny asked with fake sincerity. Hermione smirked at her callous greeting.

"It's kind of like the tomato," Hermione said with a smile that said, 'lecture, my loves.' "It's in the gourd family that has some long Latin name of course. It's like a big, round squash-melon thing. It's biologically a fruit by the shape and way the seeds form. But in culinary use, it's a vegetable," Hermione said while pushing around an egg.

"The tomato is in the gourd family?" Ron said, confusion laced with his voice and the current pastry on his tongue. Ginny rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Ron, you dunce," Ginny muttered.

"What?" Ron cried out, even more thoroughly confused. The entire group shook their heads.

"Hermione, do you know _everything?"_ Harry asked, not even sure why he was asking. Hermione shook her head with a small smile.

"'Pumpkin Day' random facts. All Prefects and Heads have to know them," she said with a shrug.

Ginny turned her attention back to Hermione. "So, 'Mione, you never answered my question. Are you excited for 'Pumpkin Day?' I'm trying to get vibes from you to know what to expect. You're one of the only ones who know what we're getting ourselves into," she pointed out to her.

Hermione 'hmmm'ed' then shrugged. "It might be fun. If the school gets into it. But I'm afraid some of the older years might not be into it. I think it'll be fun, because I used to do a few of the activities as a child. But it might come off as a bit...childish," Hermione said. The three others looked at each other.

"Any chance that you'll let us in on what's going to happen?" Harry asked hopefully.

Hermione laughed. "Nope, sorry Harry. For some reason, Professor Dumbledore doesn't want the rest of the school knowing what's going to happen until it actually happens. I _will _let you in on one little, depressing-slash-opportune fact. It's an inter-house thing. You know, to put an end to the current feuds," Hermione said skeptically. The reaction from the others was not appealing.

"You mean, we'll be participation in _festivities _with _Slytherins?_" Ron exclaimed. "Why, that's not a festivity at all. That's...that's...that's..."

"Almost capitol punishment!" Ginny cried, aghast. Hermione looked at the two of the wearily.

"Exactly Professor's point. And you're not going to die. And you are _going _to have fun. You hear me? This will not be some embarrassing lump of a _tradition," _Hermione hissed.

She had a lot more in her head, but they were meaningless protests to the school's, the Headmaster's, the Prefect's and the Head's reputations. She shook her head. Breakfast went through meaningless conversation and soon the Headmaster stood up to announce where they were to go and when to do it.

"Students, students. Could I please have your attention?" Attention was had. "I would like to explain what is going to occur in today's hopefully successful, and exciting events." Excitement Explained. "The games about to occur are for fun and fun only. There is the prize of a good deal of House Points awarded along with a small numerical prize." Attention _Really_ WasHad. Hermione didn't know about _that. _

"Please follow all rules and play fair." Fairness executed. "And let Hogwarts' First Annual Pumpkin Extermination and Day of Festivities of Over-Populated Pumpkins begin!" Dumbledore sat down and Professor McGonagall stood up.

"If you would, look now at your empty plates. In a few moments, a randomly selected word and colour will appear on the plate. This combination is the code for your team. Memorize the colour and word and we'll direct you to your pumpkins. The pumpkins are painted with the same colour and word. This is your team's pumpkin. There will be eight of you to a team.

"And yes, this will be an inter-housel competition. You are to make up a team name to call yourselves, preferably using the word assigned to your team. Be appropriate. Again, play fair," McGonagall concluded. She made sure she had the room's attention and with a wave of her wand, dim lights of purple, red, green, blue, yellow etc., etc. gleamed on every student's plate.

Hermione glanced down to see a dim green light illuminate from her plate. The word silhouetted against the limelight background was 'demise.' Hermione blinked. Who wins with the word _demise _in their name?She shrugged and looked up.

Ginny was grinning at her. "We're on the same team," she exclaimed happily. Hermione sighed relief.

"Good, now I don't have to worry about working with any dumb blokes," she said with a big smile. Ginny smirked and looked around, but there were way more than six other plates glowing green.

Harry was chatting with a Ravenclaw on his team at the neighboring table who was evidently on his team. His plate was growing blue with the word 'tiny' on it. She then looked to Ron who was searching for someone on his team. Collin approached him with a big grin, Ron gave him a wary one.

Hermione looked to Ginny. "So, what will we name our team?" she asked. Ginny scoffed.

"Something lackluster like The Pumpkin's Demise," she mused. "Or _maybe_, The Apathetic, Mysterious Abominable Demise-ees," she said like she had just come up with a great idea. She turned to Hermione who had an eyebrow raised in wonder. Ginny giggled.

"I like the Demise-ees part," Hermione said absently.

Ginny agreed with a laugh. "The Apathetic part a bit much?" Ginny asked. Hermione nodded solemnly.

McGonagall then stood up. "Please follow the Professors outside to where your team's pumpkin is located," she said in a full-of-pep way. Everyone stood up hurriedly with an excited buzz to hurry and file out onto the campus of Hogwarts.

The morning was crisp and cold. Hermione dug out her football sweatshirt and threw it over her tomboyish t-shirt and jeans. The hem fell down to mid-thigh. She then walked with the rest of the school to the vast openness of the Hogwarts campus. The group eyed the giant pumpkins, two times, sometimes three times as high as the students (depending on their year) did. They then separated into groups to find their specific pumpkin. They were assorted in lines by color, then alphabetically by the word.

Ginny and Hermione passed 'abnormal' and 'baffled' before they got to 'demise.' There waiting were two small girls in younger years, Hannah Bones, Ernie MacMillan, and one small first year boy who didn't seem to know anybody in the group.

Hermione hmmm'ed and recounted. That was only seven. She looked around and smiled at her team. Ernie was trying to look cool by leaning against the pumpkin, but the early morning dew caused him to slip and roll over the round side of the pumpkin. Hannah started to the giggle and the two younger girls were whispering to each other. The poor first year looked frightened and Hermione and Ginny must've looked like idiots just standing there, not talking to their team.

Hermione sorted through the houses. There wasn't one Slytherin in their group so far. Which made the pit of her stomach fall out. If Fate had any caring intention in her heart, she definitely would not do what Hermione was thinking she was going to do.

"Demise. What in Merlin's Love Life's Name? If that's not an omen, then I don't know what is," said a voice behind Ginny and Hermione.

Okay, Fate is officially a cold hearted bitch.

Hermione turned around and she heard Ginny mumble a curse word under her breath and saw MacMillan smirk and walk up to their eighth teammate and shake his hand.

"Zabini," he said with a smirk and a nod (those annoying, male types). Zabini shook MacMillan's hand and gave left the nod alone. Hermione tried to keep the grimace off her face. This was her 'abnormal' 'demise', which would leave her 'baffled' at Fate's nerve for all of eternity.

"Granger, don't look so disgusted. Pumpkin Day, although ridiculous and another remarkable attack on Hogwart's student population to bring down their maturity levels to an all time low from the ingenious mind of that too old quack, isn't worth looking like you would rather impale your eyeball with a pumpkin seed then shove it down my all-too-special and vile throat," he said with out a stutter, pause or smile. Just that one annoying smirk.

"You give yourself too much credit, Zabini," Hermione muttered, not intending him to hear it, and heading to the ladder that was supplied to them to climb to the top of the pumpkin.

"How so, Miss Granger?" he asked sweetly. Hermione turned around.

"I'd shove it into your ear canal," she deadpanned, turning back around and stepping onto the first ladder ring. Ginny laughed with disbelief in her voice and followed Hermione up the ladder.

Zabini didn't say anything, and if he did, Hermione didn't hear him from the top of the pumpkin. The top of the pumpkin was large enough for each person to sit comfortably and watch for the Professors to explain the first activity.

Hermione was irked beyond irritation with her new teammate. This was ridiculous, and all too predictable. She would be more proud of Fate's creativity if she placed _Malfoy _on their team. But from their pumpkintop, she could see that the fair-headed albino was grouped with an none-too-happy Ronald Weasley. Hermione cast a genuinely pathetic look in Ginny's way and Ginny grimaced in her own distaste.

Professor Dumbledore stood up on a wooden platform and pointed his wand to his voice box. Hermione saw his mouth move and in a moment, him clearing his voice was audible for an acre. He smiled as he cleared his throat.

"Good morning, again. I am glad to see that the easiest portion of our evening went smoothly. But now that we are together in our teams, you need to work together and using the word assigned to you, make up a team name. You have ten minutes before I will stop you. A Professor is assigned to each colour and they will charm the name of your team to your pumpkin. This will be what your team is referred to for the rest of the event. Please be practical. Go ahead."

Chatter fluttered up around them and Hermione turned around. There was a circle of her teammates, bordering along the side of the pumpkin. Ginny followed suit.

"What do you have in mind, with..._demise?_" Ginny started. The rest of the group seemed to be thinking about it. One of the two younger girls looked at Ginny.

"Well, we kind of don't know what demise means," she said, her voice pinched and nasally. Hermione heard the older years sigh in annoyance.

"It means downfall, nemesis, the bad ending of something," Hermione said simply and the two girls nodded, but Hermione could tell that it didn't register with either of them. The other boy was quiet and just took the other seven of his teammates in. Hermione looked to Hannah and Ernie, avoiding Zabini at all costs. Ernie seemed to be thinking things over in the slow-witted mind of his. Hermione had been harboring a dislike for him ever since her second year. He was just a pain in her rear.

"How about Pumpkin's Demise?" he offered. Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Yeah, it's really creative," Hermione said dryly. Ernie cocked his head to the side and tried to figure out if she was being serious. Hermione sighed and began to think. Something... something... could she dare dig into that part of her brain and think of something that she would put in her crazy book?

"Hogwarts Demise?" Hannah shot off. Ginny shrugged and Hermione nodded. It was better than the pumpkin thing.

"Hey Gin, how about that Demise-ee thing you mentioned?" Hermione offered. Hermione watched Zabini's head raise and look at her. Ernie shrugged and Hannah seemed to muse it over. Ginny looked at her.

"It was just a joke. Uhhh... what was it? The Apathetic, Mysterious Abominable Demise-ees?" Ginny muttered. Hermione smiled and nodded.

"How about the Omnipotent Abominable Demise-ees?" Hermione said on a whim. Zabini raised an eyebrow and looked at her with a look that expressed some sort of impression. Hannah smiled and Ernie laughed.

"It's...interesting," Ernie said. Zabini still hadn't said anything, but his eyes were still fixated on Hermione with the same look plastered on his face.

Hermione looked up with a dark look in her eyes. Then he talked saying, "Abominable sounds savage. How about..._robust_?" he suggested. Hermione scoffed.

"It's a suitable word, Zabini. If we plan on pumping steroids and whacking each other with bludgeons like barbarians on a ego trip," Hermione said sarcastically.

"In that case, how does negativistic work for you? If we're going along with parallel personalities," Zabini said smoothly.

"Well, Zabini, just to go along with a theme, then _draconian _would be perfect then, wouldn't it?" Hermione said, a sneer creeping into her features. A smirk curved it's way in his lips and amusement smothered his previously expressionless face.

"It's perfect. The Omnipotent, Draconian Demise-ees," he said nodding. Hannah was thinking it over, Ernie seemed to be a little lost, the two third-year girls had began conversing about their finger nails, the younger boy actually seemed to be understanding and Ginny was just observing.

"Yeah, I believe that the rest of the world will understand what it means," Ginny said dryly. Hermione was a bit confused too. If she recalled correctly, that was a pretty harsh insult (and one she was proud of). Did she miss something? Zabini seemed to read Hermione's, and everyone else's, dazed faces.

"Well, it's aggressive, confident and pretty impressive when it comes to intimidation." A few less dazed looks. Except from Ernie and the two girls. Zabini rolled his eyes.

"Omnipotent. All powerful. Draconian. Excessively merciless," he said thoughtlessly. '_You stupid bints_' was the unfinished sentence fragment. The rest of the group seemed to understand. Hermione was again shocked by the Slytherin civility. Would it ever end?

"Now that we have the team names, we can begin the festivities," Dumbledore began. "For all of the students associated with Muggle living and customs, some should be familiar with the activity of pumpkin carving. It is a time-honoured tradition in the Muggle world in which Muggles carve a face in the pumpkins side to create eerie glows on Halloween night. This is present on our campus during the Halloween feast."

"Your first task is to remove the contents of your pumpkin, emptying it of any seeds or," pause, 'gunk.'

Hermione began thinking of several spells she could use. Certainly everyone would be using the levitating spell. She knew many others that would take two small seconds to get rid of the waste.

"The first ten teams to empty their pumpkin first will go to the next activity that includes carving a face onto your pumpkin. When you are done, send a red flare to signify that you have finished." Dumbledore paused and waited a moment. "This, students, is the only time you are to use your wands in this part of the competition."

Hermione's jaw dropped. He didn't mean they had to gouge a mutant pumpkin using-

"Students, you are being supplied with eight silver spoons per team. You are to use your self and these spoons to remove the pumpkin's contents until the pumpkin is empty. No magic. Work as a team," Dumbledore concluded. Hermione sighed. That old bat was a loon.

Silver spoons were indeed supplied for them, now laying at the base of the tree stump of a stem. She also noted a line that circled around the top of the pumpkin.

"If you would notice the circular cut out of the top of the pumpkin. Please take your spoons and stand outside that line," Dumbledore said notably.

Hermione leaned over and grabbed a spoon, as did her teammates. She stood and walked outside the line. Everyone else did the same. After a few moments, the pumpkin's 'lid' disappeared and the eight of them were standing before a giant pit of orange gunk.

"If you would pocket your wands. Any use of magic other than sending flares is illegal in this competitions and you will be disqualified," Dumbledore noted gravely.

"And you can begin, now," Dumbledore said. The grounds were silent for a few moments until chatter rose once more. Hermione looked around.

"I guess we better get going, and going fast," she said. She got on her knees and bent over to take out her first scoop of pumpkin gunk. She stared at it in her tiny spoon compared to the giant pumpkin. She flicked it over her shoulder.

"This'll be interesting," she muttered.

"This'll be chaos," Ginny concluded. She joined Hermione on her knees and began scooping. The rest of the team followed, some more unwilling than others.

Hermione found this work tedious and not as much fun as it was when the pumpkin was the size of her head, not the size of jungle gym. This was Cinderella's Carriage gone limo, big. This was tedious labor. Not competitive fun.

But as she was flinging some gunk over her shoulder, the slickness of the gooey gunk slid between her fingers and the spoon, causing the gunk to go flying in any direction other than her shoulder. This soared right over to the tamed hair of Blaise Zabini, clashing wildly against his black locks.

Hermione straightened and her eyes widened but not before thinking, '_For the love of Merlin.'_

Her orange-stained hand went over her mouth as his orange-stained hand went to his hair. In horror, Hermione watched as everyone looked up to Zabini stopping what he was doing to pull the gunk out of his curly mane. His eyes flickered over to her and Hermione waited to be berated for the capricious accident.

Instead, Hermione watched as Zabini's expressionless face remained expressionless as he tossed the indifferent slop over his shoulder, only to grab his spoon and scooping more into to slickened concave interior. His eyes never left hers. Hermione was beginning to wonder what was going on. Then something hit her cheek. It was cold, it was wet, and it wasn't very viscous.

Ginny gasped in delight when she realized what had just happened and a few other teammates laughed. Hermione tried to register what had just happened. Her hand that was covering her mouth went to her cheek to find a lump of pumpkin seeds and gunk sliding down to her chin.

The littlest Weasley was beginning to laugh hysterically as Hermione's mouth dropped in disbelief. She stared at Zabini.

Did he really just do that?

The smirk that was broadening on his face due to his obvious retaliation brought Hermione to the distinct belief that the Slytherin hyena had just hit her with his own ammunition of cold and soggy pumpkin guts. He just made he a casualty! Hermione thought quickly.

Her hand dipped into the cold, wet, slimy, (did we mention wet?) gunk to shovel a rather large handful into her small palms. She formed her own smirk and aiming right for his chest, Hermione smacked him right in the abdomen, splattering orange goop everywhere.

Ginny stopped laughing to gape at the new scene. Hermione grinned at her new achievement but was taken by surprise again when Zabini hit her shoulder with his own handful of pumpkin flesh. Ginny began to giggle insanely again and instead of retaliating against Zabini, she dropped gunk into Ginny's jean-clad lap. _Then _she retaliated against Zabini.

And in that moment, all eight teammates joined in on the pumpkin-ball fight. Hermione was engaged in mustering throws at both Zabini and Ginny, getting smacked viciously in the head by stray 'balls' a couple of times. She'd sling one in the general direction just to hit someone who might've done it.

Halfway through the battering of pumpkin-drizzle, Hermione had thrown her arm into one eager throw to find it plastered all over the front of Zabini's face. His hand had been cradling his own pumpkin-ball at the time of the hit. His eyes were now shut tight, his mouth the same. His hand was in mid air and his other hand made move to wipe away the mess of his face.

Hermione didn't mean to strike his face, but the scene was contagiously funny. A giggle began to rise in her throat and although she wanted to smother it in presence of ill tempered Slytherins, Ginny began to giggle too. That sent Hermione over the edge in which she was almost cackling. That was until she was served her own pumpkin-ball to the face. At that moment Hermione was clutching her side in hysterics and her laughter was coming out silent at times. She could hear Ginny in the same position and was it possible? Zabini was laughing himself!

The bushy-haired Gryffindor tried to compose herself. Gulping back her demeanor, she calmed her laughter to the point where she could function. The rest of the team had stopped and they were all staring at each other, covered in pumpkin gunk and grinning faces.

"Well, I guess that's a way to make progress," Hermione said. A few of them laughed a bit. Hermione then leaned over, discarding her spoon and started to scoop with her hands.

Everyone joined in on this and they made much more progress that way. But they were getting to a point where they couldn't reach the gunk from where they were. Hermione wiped her hands on her jeans and then stood up. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and stared at their progress. They had almost gotten halfway there. Ginny stood up with her, as did a few others.

"I think we're going to have to get in there," Hermione said.

"That'll be a comfy experience," Ginny said with a smirk. Hermione looked at Ginny with a wary look. Ginny's eyes narrowed and a mischievous smile played on her lips.

"Ginny..." Hermione warned. She began to back up. "Ginny, Don't."

Hermione had to turn around so she wouldn't step off the side of the pumpkin. That's when Ginny grabbed her by the sides of the arms and gently swung Hermione so that she lost her balance and tipped into the insides of the pumpkin. Hermione let out a squeal of surprise and anger as she fell and sunk into the 'comfy' cushioning of the pumpkin. Ginny was grinning up at her.

"Start scooping, sweetheart," she said sweetly. Hermione glared up at her.

"Ginny Weasley, you get me out of this pumpkin, or I swear on Merlin's name..." Hermione threatened as she stuck out her hand. Ginny crossed her arms.

"Nuh-uh," she said. Hermione huffed.

"You put me in here, now _get me out!"_ Hermione exclaimed angrily.

Zabini was smirking down over her, but to her surprise, he stuck out his hand to offer help. Hermione was again shocked.

_The Slytherin civility!_ _Again. _'_This is getting ridiculous,"_ Hermione thought to herself.

Nevertheless, she took Zabini's hand, but as she felt him begin to tug, she smirked her own smirk and tugged her own tug. Hard enough to cause him to lose his balance and tumble into the half-hallow pumpkin. She heard him curse and then she saw him turn to her.

"Figures as much, Granger," he said huffily. Hermione almost had the urge to stick her tongue out at him. Instead she turned to Ginny and with a withering glare she ordered her to get the ladder and set it down in the pumpkin so the could all get out. They were all certainly getting in.

They worked like that for a while. They were flinging gunk over the top of the pumpkin, trying their best to get it there, but sometimes they would throw it too vertically and it would come down on another individual, or another teammate, in which they would get smack in the face with more pumpkin gunk.

Finally Hannah exclaimed that she felt the bottom of the pumpkin and all eight of them work furiously to finish scooping out all of the gunk. It got too claustrophobic so they sent the three smaller kids to the top and Ernie too. The four left worked until they realized that the pumpkin was clean thoroughly. Hermione squealed and scampered to get her wand out of her bag on the top of the pumpkin.

Who would've thought that, with all of the fighting, they'd end up sixth in the running?

* * *

A/N- Alright, I know this took forever to get out. And it wasn't as fluffy as I would've loved, but I'm very happy. This idea jumped at me when I was in vacation, and I ran with it. You like it, you love it, you hate it?

Four more completions to go. But to let you know, you probably won't experience two of them. And I'm thinking at the end of "Pumpkin Day", Miss Hermione is going to receive a little admiration. Hmm... a chapter or two away? Who knows.

Thanks for reading. Please review- you know the drill- let me know about my humor and how it works, or doesn't. Any criticism?


	5. Kittens, OnlyOnlys and Dystopian Novels

**Disclaimer: Disclaimed**

**Summary: She likes her coffee with cream and sugar. He likes his strictly black. That's only the beginning of their differences. 3 AM every morning, a cup of coffee each, buzzed on the caffeine and the energy of their conversation.**

AN- Hurrah! Finally, I've come back to the FanFiction world. Anyone on my author alerts list knows that I've been updating frequently on anything but _Buzzed. _But here ya go. Finally the fifth chapter. Now that I've gotten past it, I'm pretty sure I can work faster. I apologize in advance for the potential boring-factor of this chapter. Really, it became a transition chapter, which is not what I wanted- but alas. I present to you the transition chapter.

Thanks to my beta Rent Serenity/ Genna

* * *

**-Chapter Five-**

_Kittens, Only-Onlys, and Dystopian Novels_

Hermione was sitting atop her team's large pumpkin, feeling most uncomfortable. They were waiting for the next competition to be announced. Currently, the losing teams were making their way off the field to participate in the pumpkin pie eating and pumpkin slop competitions.

The ten team winners were now participating the carving portion of things. She had no idea what her team was supposed to come up with. She wasn't an artist, Ginny was...she didn't know what to call Ginny, and she was pretty sure the two younger girls didn't even have the brains to write out the word "bint."

Now, if there was the slightest chance that Zabini could draw more than a stick figure with a top hat, then she would be ecstatic. But as of now, she was relying her faith in the other three members on her team. She couldn't help thinking, "_Dear Merlin, Goddesses and The Man Who Came Up With Eureka- please help me." _

Everyone seemed to be extremely exhausted. The morning sun was rising higher, but the air was still chilly, and the gook on their arms seemed to freeze to them. As Hermione began to think that she was going to roll over into a human version of that mammoth they found in an iceberg a few years ago, Dumbledore scared everyone with his suddenly booming voice.

"Congratulations to the winners and good sport to the not-so-winners. The next part of the competition involves carving out a picture on the face of your pumpkin. If you would, the pictures must be clean, appropriate and school-worthy.

"_Oh, if he only knew_ _what this school is on about,_ Hermione thought grimly to herself.

"The pictures will be judged based on creativity. So, try your best to do what you can. You have an hour to plan, sketch, and carve. Wands are permitted in this portion of the competition," he said. Dumbledore paused before he went on. "I would like to let you know what the prizes are for completing the competition in first place.

"The winners are allowed to take a day off from school to spend in Hogsmeade." Chatter rose at this. "They will be given thirty-five galleons each to spend in Hogsmeade. In addition, the winners are eligible to complete a project to which they can win a high-galleon scholarship. Also, the top three pumpkins will be on display at the Evening Feast tonight."

When Dumbledore mentioned scholarship, Hermione immediately sat upright. Although her family was well off with their own dental practice and all, they were in no position to dump several thousand galleons, or pounds for that matter, each year for school after Hogwarts.

"Your time begins..." He looked at his pocket watch. "Now."

The teams began to scamper together. All of them, save the Omnipotent, Draconian Demise-ees (shortened to ODD, which shortened to odd. Just odd), who were still sitting on their pumpkin as if moving would cause them some serious brain damage.

"So..." Ernie said.

_Figures, _Hermione thought.

"Uhh... so, whatcha guys want to draw?" Ginny tried. People were blinking and brains were _trying _to work. But it all was failure. Silence.

"Good God. Who here can draw?" Hermione said irritably. Hannah timidly raised her hand as did Ginny. Which was half true. Ginny had a small knack for drawing, but she never practiced. She didn't know about Hannah.

"Fabulous. Two people. What are we going to do? Paste the two of them to the side of the pumpkin and make them draw like Egyptian slave workers?" Zabini spat. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"We'll figure something out. They can take the detailed portion of the drawing, and the rest of us will take the simplest stuff," Hermione said.

"Sure, the drawing will be proportional _that _way," he said. Hermione gritted her teeth.

"Do you have any _better _ideas, Zabini?" Hermione said through a forced tongue. She got silence from him. "Alright then. Now we have to figure out what we've going to draw."

Zabini opened his mouth, and Hermione almost wanted to throw a skillet at him. But alas, no skillet was to be seen.

"I vote fluffy bunnies running around in pink fields while little kitties fluff around in cotton candy-"

"And little baby monkeys chomp on papayas while the Goddesses hang the moon for everything to be cast in a gorgeous pale moonlight," Hermione finished for him in a dangerously even and annoyed voice. Everyone stared and didn't know whether to laugh or keep a straight face. "Yeah, Zabini, we've got it. You don't want to do this. Either do the rest of us. But we did fine last round, so we can do this again (as painful as it's going to be). Cut the crap and we'll be fine."

She then stood up and descended down the ladder with forced irritation.

"Careful now, Granger. Don't want to go breaking the ladder," Zabini said, following suit. Hermione took a deep breath and let it out through her nose. She did have to admit, this was a little more comforting than the civility.

As soon as everyone had retreated down the ladder, Hermione began to think of something to draw.

"I like Zabini's idea," Ernie said, after a moment of contemplation.

"And so do the first years," Ginny said with irritation. She turned to the little boy. "Sorry, no offense."

"I actually like Hermione's idea," Hannah suggested. Everyone looked at her with incredulous looks. She shrugged. "Well, the monkeys and papayas are a bit creepy, but maybe a Goddess theme would be cool."

Everyone seemed to contemplate it. Hermione was confused and frustrated.

"I kind of like it, too. It wouldn't be too hard. And I'm assuming most of us know only a few things about Mythology," Ginny said. Blank looks from Ernie and the younger years. "Well, _that's _not surprising," she said mockingly.

"Okay, so now that the theme is decided, which ones are we going to do?" Zabini asked, irritated.

Hermione, still just as confused was wondering how everything was her idea by complete and utter accident? It kind of pissed her off.

Hannah smirked a bit. "The three most famous of course."

Ginny grinned at this. "I think it's positively perfect. If we do it right, it'll probably become high in the running," she said thoughtfully.

"I don't get it. Whom are the most three famous?" Zabini asked. The others agreed for explanation. Hermione sighed. She would've rather talked and planned things out instead of spawning something out of a ridiculous affront of sorts.

"Aphrodite, Hera and Athena," she said shortly. They gave her even more blank looks. Her patience was beginning to go out. "Alright, Eris was not invited to this big party, shebang of sorts, so she got angry. She brought with her a golden apple that supposedly went to the fairest Goddess of all. Aphrodite, Hera and Athena insisted that they each deserved the apple. They gave the decision to Zeus, who then gave it to the mortal, and might I add cowardly, prince of Troy Paris.

"Hera bribed him with the position of king of Europe and Asia. Athena offered assistance in war, while Aphrodite offered the most beautiful mortal woman alive. Paris, being a uhh...well, nevermind. Paris chose Aphrodite and thus entailed the Trojan War and a really long poem," Hermione said a bit monotone. Everyone gave her an "ooooh" look.

"So, I say we draw the three heads of the Goddesses in a triangle. There'll be an apple in the middle. Next to each Goddess should be a symbol of what they offered. Those can be simple for the non-artistic ones," Hannah planned out verbally.

"Then who'll do the third Goddess?" Hermione asked. She looked around. The little boy raised his hand.

"I'm not a bad artist, just tell me what to do and I'll try," he said in a small prepubescent voice.

Hermione smiled at him and had to fight the urge to call him "honey" when affirming that he'd do the third Goddess.

"How do you guys want to go about this?" Zabini asked.

Hermione looked around. "Well, I could do the apple. I say Hera has a crown next to her, Athena has a crossbow and Aphrodite has a uhh... heart," she said lamely. "Zabini? Care to take the crossbow?" she waited for his affirmative nod before going on. "You...uh... two" she said shamefully. She hated not know people's names. "You get the heart and crown."

Honestly, she didn't trust the two of them with a levitating spell more than she would trust a rock. She looked at Ernie who seemed very, very lost.

"You know how to levitate more than one thing right?" she asked. He nodded slowly. She opened her mouth to comment but instead turned away to look at the rest of them. "So, we're good? Good. I say we have about forty-five minutes left."

Ginny, Hannah, and First-Year-Boy were levitated first so they could set the heads, as that was what the entire pumpkin carving was stationed around.

"Alright, remember, only draw what you want carved. The charm only follows lines, therefore will cut what ever lines have been drawn," Hermione instructed. She tried to keep her authoritative tone out of her voice, but she just couldn't help it. Once, the artists were situated for drawing, Hermione began to nag.

"Alright Ernie, keep your concentration. _Please_, oh _please _do not break your concentration," Hermione urged. Zabini rolled his eyes.

"Merlin, Granger, I don't think he can concentrate with your constant voice in his ear."

Hermione sighed and just watched the three of them draw. Each were different in design, as far as she could tell. Ginny's was turning out to be the traditional marble-head-structure, while Hannah's was a bit more earthy and Raphaelite. First-Year-Boy's was just simply gorgeous in detail. He was assigned Hera, supposedly the most beautiful of them all (Ginny had Aphrodite, whereas Hannah had Athena).

It took them about thirty minutes to finish. Hermione smiled at the product. The heads were fairly large, probably two to three feet in width each. Each face had their own characteristics that made them their own.

Then the rest of them were levitated to draw their more simple structures. Hermione just drew her simple apple, having been very skilled in doodling on History of Magic notes. The heart was finished first, then the apple. After Hermione came the crown until Zabini was the only one up there.

"Come on, Zabini. It doesn't have to be a Degas reprint," Hermione scolded from the ground. "We're running out of time."

Zabini looked over his shoulder and down at her. "What the hell is a Day Gah?"

Hermione sighed and scowled. "An artist. But that doesn't matter. Hurry _up."_

Finally, he finished his all-so-detailed bow-and-arrow and was levitated back down. Hermione searched her head for the incantation and then casted the charm on each picture, she waved her arm and recited the words. Immediately, the orange light zipped along the lines of the drawings, each chunk of pumpkin falling into the base of the pumpkin.

"Now, where in God's name did you learn to do _that?_" Zabini asked. "There is an honest-to-God spell to carve pumpkins?"

"No, Zabini. Read for once. It's useful for more than _carving pumpkins_. Try architecture maybe," she said sourly.

He, of course, ignored the comment and waited for the time to go out. The buzzer of only Merlin-knows-what went off to signify that time was up.

* * *

They were allowed to leave for lunch while the pumpkins were being judged. Hermione sat with Harry, Ron and Ginny in the Great Hall.

"Well, that wasn't _too _bad," Ginny comment while swallowing a piece of bread.

"Yeah, and I suddenly found that sticking pinecones down my esophagus is pleasant," Hermione retorted. Ron snorted (thus came flying mashed potatoes) and everyone stared at him.

"Sorry, mental image," he explained.

"Come on, Hermione, you have to admit _part_ of it was fun," Ginny said. Hermione sighed and nodded.

"Right before Zabini morphed into a kitten-eating prick," Hermione said into her pumpkin cup (she was fishing out a poppy seed). This made the three of them laugh.

"I thought it was fluffy cotton-candy," Ginny said through giggles. Hermione shrugged.

"You know he's evil enough to do it."

"Hey, he didn't throw a gigantic hissy fit when you hit him with the pumpkin guts," Ginny said. Harry and Ron gaped.

"Yeah, but, but, he's still a prat," she said in retort.

"Agreed."

* * *

When they returned to the fields the three winning pumpkins were situated in the vast openness. Hermione and Ginny exchanged excited glances when they saw that there's were among the three.

Hermione's heart lifted in pride for winning and excitement for the next competition. Her heart then dropped. Another competition, with her _team. _She sighed. _Oh, well. _

Their team gathered in front of their pumpkin, all of them either looking excited, bored or excitedly bored.

The Fantastic Phoenixes had carved a, go figure, phoenix that was actually quite impressive. Then there was The Boastful Buccaneers who drew a very traditional Dracula and his ghostly bride. It was the alliteration that annoyed Hermione.

Dumbledore congratulated the lot, saying their carvings were "_magnificent." _Hermione guessed that the others were just pathetic drawers. He began to inform them of the next competition. He pointed above their heads and they all turned. _Oh, my. _

On the top of a hill that was infamous at Hogwarts for sledding, were three pumpkins (of the extremely gigantic variety) on their sides. The lids were off, so Hermione figured these pumpkins must've been left over from the first competition.

"In your final competition, Hogwarts has invented something new and innovative."

Hermione could almost see Dumbledore resisting the urge to clap his hands together excitedly.

"The pumpkins are hallow and ready to be pushed. Yes, pushed. The entire team is to gather behind the pumpkin, which is being steadied by an axel. At the same time, the axels will remove themselves and the pumpkins will roll down the hill.

"As many of you know, the hill evens out into an even plane. You are to push the pumpkin, or try to keep up with the pumpkin until you reach the pumpkin.

"One catch. One teammate's hand must stay on the the pumpkin at all time. If teammates fall behind, that is quite alright, as long as one person's hand remains on the pumpkin. If not, the pumpkin will apparate back to the top and your team is disqualified. The first team to the finishing point, or the last team to be disqualified, is the winner."

Hermione's jaw dropped at the preposterousness of the entire idea. _Rolling a pumpkin down a hill? In what way is that fun? _Hermione could tell that the other twenty-three students were just as skeptical. But a day off of school, money to spend, it might just be worth it. _A scholarship. _

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go man your pumpkins!" Dumbledore shouted. The students just shuffled their way to their pumpkins. This was going to be _interesting. _

Hermione looked at Ginny who looked like she might break into hysterical laughter.

"Ginny?" Hermione asked. Ginny turned to her with a grin.

"It's so..._stupid_," she said giggling. "And I can't wait."

Hermione shook her head, a little lightened by her mood. The two younger girls seemed disgusted, First-Year-Boy looked scared and Ernie and Hannah looked a little excited. Zabini looked...indifferent.

She looked over the side of the pumpkin. That was a _long _run. _Psh, what is he trying to do? Tell us that we need to get in shape? _

Hermione was not an athletic girl, but she made sure she stayed fit most of the time. Every now and again when she would get tense, she'd go for a run on the shore of the lake to clear her mind. She was an okay runner, not the best. She was a bit afraid if she could actually make the run.

They all put one hand against the pumpkin and prepared themselves. Ginny was beginning to giggle again. And it was contagious. Hermione smiled and chuckled. Zabini looked at the two (for they were on either side of him) with curiosity and disdain.

"What're you laughing at?" he said as if there was some terrible crime. This made Hermione and Ginny giggle harder.

It was so _stupid! _They were pushing an oversized pumpkin that was the result of a very confused gardener down a massive hill that could possibly be used for the winter Olympics. Not only was it ridiculous, but everyone was so serious! They looked so skeptical and somber that she couldn't help but picture them all chasing after said massive pumpkin down a hill like it was the cure for cancer or something.

Hermione tried to regain her composure but the look on Zabini's face was so confused that she had to leaned her entire body against the pumpkin and hide her head in it to stifle her giggles. Ginny was nearly hysterical with laughter.

Zabini's face said, "_Oh, dear God, I have become apart of a sick social experiment in which two maniacal bints are forced to drive me into hallucinations of pixies dyed fuchsia who are doing the meringue with the charmed ice sculptures from the Yule Ball." _

Hermione had no idea where- Oh, _shit. _Suddenly, Hermione had to scavenge for her balance, for the thing that she had been leaning on had suddenly began to roll down a not-so-vaguely steep hill. In a moment of flurry, she began to chase after what had now become and very orange blob.

She tagged it after a moment of recovery and felt the pumpkin gaining speed faster and faster as it gained it's momentum. Hermione was afraid she was going to lose her balance and begin rolling down the hill herself.

At that moment, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed poor, still laughing Ginny trip, stumble and pitch forward to the ground in a heap of jeans and t-shirt. Hermione dared to look over her shoulder in the blur of movement and saw the poor girl tumble and roll down the hill. The picture was so hilarious that Hermione burst into laughter.

At that point she had focused her vision on the pumpkin in front of her, her arms still switching to keep up with the rolling pumpkin. But the image of her tripping and rolling was still in her head and she began to laugh all over again, this time more hysterically. She saw that Zabini was looking at her strangely again, so he quickly looked over his shoulder to see what she saw.

She heard a restrained chuckle that sounded more like an old man choking on a pickle. This made her even more hysterically. This picture of her, cherry-face, sweaty and still pumpkin-doused, was the only reason why Hermione could deduct why Zabini began to laugh himself. Well, that and picture of Ginny and her toppling head over ankles.

Once Zabini began laughing there was no hope of Hermione stopping. She was one of those people that saw other people laughing and laughed herself. They were both guffawing when they hit even ground. They tried to sober up as they hopelessly pushed the pumpkin, which still was going at speeds that was giving Hermione a cramp in her lower abdomen. But they were still in hysteria, pushing the pumpkin against the friction of the plane.

They didn't even realize that the rest of the team had fallen behind for one reason or another, and that it was just the two of them shoving around a giant pumpkin like two lunatics.

But finally, when the laughter became too much and the pumpkin had slowed down to crawling speeds, Hermione collapsed in laughter. Zabini followed suit.

The two of them leaned against the pumpkin which had now came to a complete stop. Hermione clutched her side, and Zabini tried to regain his composure. Both of them finally calmed down and looked around them, both breathing heavily.

Hermione could see a grass-stained Ginny coming towards her with a huge grin on her face. She also saw two pumpkins at the top of the hill... Which meant...

"We've won!" Ginny shouted. _Uh...what? _"I'm not sure how, but we've won. The other two teams were disqualified."

"That last sentence would be the 'how', Ginny, dear," Hermione said quietly, even though Ginny was several yards away and wouldn't be able to hear her anyway. This made Zabini chuckle and they both gave each other warning looks. There was no telling what could set Hermione off again.

Hermione stood up and brushed herself. "Well, what an accomplishment. We've cackled ourselves into winning," she said as Ginny reached them.

"Were you laughing at _me?_" she asked. Hermione smiled, bit her lip and nodded. "I'm sorry, Gin, but it was so hysterical. I was beside myself. I would've been fine if Zabini here hadn't completely lost it."

"_I _lost it? What about the two of you at the beginning? I don't think any of this would have happened if you hadn't begun guffawing like morons," he spat. Hermione sighed.

"Well, it was just so stupid. I couldn't help but laugh," Ginny finished.

"Yeah, I mean '_Man your pumpkins?'" _Hermione said.

* * *

Hermione was trudging up to the castle alone. Ginny had run off for some reason or other. Probably to steal the shower before the rest of her dormmates. She didn't really expect Zabini to walk with her, or the rest of her teammates for that matter. So, she was just contemplative the way on, rustling in her stiff jeans.

Lost in her thinking, she didn't hear a voice yelling for her. After what might've been the third call, Hermione snapped out of her reverie. She smiled tiredly when she saw Harry coming towards her.

"Hey, 'Mione," he said, coming up to pace with her. "Goody, again?" he asked. "Goody" was short for "Lovegoodish." Hermione smiled.

"No, not really. Not sure if my brain is working properly," she said. Harry laughed.

"Sounds Goody to me," he said with a smile.

"Well, with the psychotic laughter and trying to keep a certain Slytherin in check, I doubt there are any brain cells left," she said, looking up at him. Harry smiled and shook his head.

"Miss Granger? Without any brain cells? Never."

"Oh, don't underestimate me. I have the nasty tendency to whack my head against walls whenever I'm the slightest bit frustrated and start counting by threes," Hermione said matter-of-factly.

"Threes?"

"Yes, you lose three brain cells every time you hit your head," Hermione said.

"Only you Hermione," Harry said affectionately.

"_Only _me. You better mean that Potter, because if I find another girl beating her head against walls and counting by threes, my heart will be shamelessly broken," Hermione said in mock dedication. Harry stopped and pasted a serious face on.

"Oh, but Hermione, love, you are my only, only," he said. Hermione smiled.

"Your only, only? That must be pretty special," Hermione said with a smirk. It wasn't until Harry looked down shyly that she realized that he had lost his facade. Her heart jumped. _Wait, I don't know what's going on! _it screamed.

"Well, only, all by itself means that, sure, you're pretty cool and all. You're unique enough for there to be only one of you. _Maybe_. But only, only? Only, only means you're completely and utterly by yourself as a cool, smart, intelligent, beautiful person. Except, well, you're not exactly alone, you have another only to keep you company," he said with a grin. Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or 'awww.'

"Oh," she said. Then she realized that this was Harry. Even if he was... well, _you know_, then it would be alright in the end. "That was probably the corniest thing I've ever heard. Pretty dang cute, though," she said, looking at his face for a reaction. He went back to serious Harry. "So, I am I an only, or an only, only?" Hermione asked tentatively.

"Well, you have to be somebody's only, only. You can't just be an only, or an only, only all by yourself," Harry said.

"Oh, well, that doesn't make much sense, now does it? You can't be unique unless you don't belong to somebody?" Hermione asked.

"Well, somebody has to verify your onlyness," Harry stated matter-of-factly.

"Oh, really? Then, Harry, am I an only, or an only, only?" Hermione asked, not even sure whether or not she wanted to know the answer.

Harry moved closer to Hermione. He reached up and tucked a pumpkin-gut-stiff strand of hair behind her ear. He looked at her with those green eyes that always seemed to startle her, whether she felt anything for him or not.

"Well, I think you'd make a good only, only. Only, only if you'd be _my_ only, only," he said with a hesitant smile.

Hermione's eyes widened. Okay, so it was expected, but not _really. _Did he want her to be...but what? _Oh, Merlin, I'm so confused! _

"Well, what does an only, only entail?" Hermione asked. Harry smiled his characteristic, little half-smile and tucked his hand around her neck, just right under her ear. The contact made her jump a little. Watching him lean in was the hard part. Not knowing what she wanted, she let him close that little distance between them. The kiss was soft and gentle, exactly what she would imagine kissing Harry would be like. Tame and sweet.

He pulled away and searched her face. She smiled sweetly and responded with a little shrug of her shoulders. "Guess I don't have much of a choice then," she said, her smile broadening. Harry grinned and kissed her once more.

* * *

Hermione was curled up in a chair when Zabini scared her once again. The kitchens were remote, her coffee was cold, and she was reading_ We_ for the third time. She had a thing for Russian literature (she did happen to protest _War and Peace _with every fiber of her being. She refused to read that book). She jumped a little and looked up over the top of her book. She was facing the portrait entrance this time, and Zabini had just slipped in. His hair was dark around his face, obviously wet. He was clad in a navy blue t-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms. Hermione sighed and went back to her book.

Dobby shuffled out into the kitchens and poured Zabini his coffee and without word, he warmed up Hermione's. Hermione thanked him quietly and followed Zabini with her eyes as he sat down in front of her. The chair creaked a bit as he slouched.

"I like _The Handmaid's Tale _better," he stated. Hermione let the book fall slack in her hands and scrunched her brow.

"What are you talking about?" she snapped.

"_The Handmaid's Tale_, you know? The book?" he stated.

"Yeah, Atwood, but what does that have to do with anything?" she said, feeling irritable. Zabini rolled his eyes.

"Normally the books go hand in hand, with the whole controversy and dystopian thing. It's like _1984_ and _Brave New World_," he stated as if it were the simplest concept in the world. Hermione was irritable for not making the connection.

"I've never read either of those," she said plainly. Zabini gave her a look that said, "Haha, sarcasm, you're funny." But when Hermione's look never changed, he cast a "Woah, you're not being funny."

"But you're Princess Granger, crowned royale of the Bookworm Kingdom. I should be bowing down to you in the holiness that is your bookworm reign," he gasped out.

"Yeah, yeah. I get it. So, shut up. I can't read everything out there," she said irritably.

"But... but...they're classics," he said.

Hermione blinked at him. "So is Edith Hamilton's _Mythology_, but you evidentially haven't read that one." She looked back at her book. "You don't seem much of the reader type," she said absently.

"Is there such thing as a reader type? You read if you read," he said, leaning back in his chair. Hermione's eyes flicked up from the page again.

"Yes, but certain people don't have time for certain things like books. You just seem like one of those certain people," she said. Zabini seemed to look at her closely.

"I thought we already established that prejudice isn't something that we like, Granger," he said evenly.

"Just stating what I think," she said, her attention back on the book.

"Fair enough," he said. "Then I should like to tell you that I still think you're psychotic."

"Hmm, nice revelation, Zabini. Most Slytherins don't accuse Gryffindors of being crazy, lunatics, moronic," Hermione said dryly.

"Just stating what I think," he said, taking a swig of his coffee. Hermione aligned her jaw and put her book down.

"Why?"

"Why what? Why do I state what I think? Because it's what I think, Granger," Zabini said, smirking. Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"No, why am I psychotic? I'd like to think myself quite sane," she said, wrapping her fingers around the cup.

"The laughing thing. I couldn't be more disturbed by anything in my life," he said, sitting up and leaning onto his elbows.

"Well, the entire thing was absolutely ridiculous!" Hermione exclaimed. "I couldn't help myself. Ginny started it anyway."

"And you found yourself completely incapable of being able to stop?" he queried. Hermione nodded.

"Why, as a matter of fact, yes, I did. Once I get myself started, it's nearly impossible to stop. A halting gigantic pumpkin did it for me though. Besides, you weren't exactly straight-faced either. If I remember correctly, you were about as hysterical as I was," she said with force in her voice. Zabini scowled at her. Then it seemed that something caught his eye. A smirk gleamed from his lips as he leaned over, his hand forward, coming closer to her head.

"Zabini! What are you doing?" Hermione exclaimed. She tried to turn out of his reach, but he eventually fetched something out of her untamed hair. He pulled his hand back, palming a small, white pumpkin seed. Hermione groaned.

"I thought I got them all," she said sourly. Zabini snorted.

"I'm not surprised you missed a few in that mane of yours," he said, still eyeing the pumpkin seed.

"And like your hair isn't five strands from a parachute," Hermione spat. He protectively ran a hand through his hair as he scowled. Hermione sighed.

"I fished like a million of those things out of my hair. They were everywhere," she said bitterly. Zabini shrugged as if there was no spite towards pumpkin seeds on his side. Hermione seriously doubted this. He had a _ton _of hair.

"Hey, but the process of them getting there was interesting for the most part," he offered. Hermione chuckled.

"Yeah, I thought you were going to Bat Bogey me or something. It was an honest accident, really," Hermione said with a smile. Zabini shrugged with a grin.

"Doesn't matter much, now does it? I won in the end," he said smoothly. Hermione's mouth dropped.

"You did not! I got the last hit in and you know it!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Please, Granger, I am Quidditch-extraordinaire. Throwing large masses at people is my specialty," he said smugly.

"Doesn't mean that I didn't completely and utter whip you!" Hermione said with as much arrogant air as she could muster. She must've mustered a lot because he ignored the comment. Instead of retorting, he picked up her book and flipped through it. Ink of all colors were etched on the cream-colored pages.

"Analyze much?" he asked, subtlety changing the subject. Hermione shrugged.

"I just like to pick at it. It's a hobby when I'm bored. I did most of those the second time I read it," she said, nodding towards the book.

"The second time? As in this is the...?"

"Third," she stated simply. Zabini raised an eyebrow.

"Alright, then."

The kitchens were quiet. Zabini still had the book in his hands and Hermione stared off into space thinking. Both weren't really focused on anything. Suddenly, Hermione spoke up.

"What's _Brave New World _like?" she asked. Zabini blinked at her, seeming to come back from wherever he was.

"Uhh...odd. Bloody insane. Bloody brilliant," he said. "I really don't know how I found it brilliant, but I did," he said as he smirked. Hermione just nodded.

"You still don't seem like the reading type," she stated lamely. Zabini shrugged and shook the curls away from his eyes.

"You're still psychotic. And really, I'm not. I like the dystopian novels more than anything," he said. "Love a little chaos."

Hermione seemed to mull this comment over in her head for awhile. "Dystopia scares me. I don't know what I would do with people completely trying to control my life." She paused. "Why would you love chaos?"

"It makes things a little more interesting. I work better under stress, think better with noise. When there's chaos, it just seems easier to sort through things," he said contemplatively. Hermione stifled a laugh and he gave her an odd look.

"It's just that, that...it doesn't really make any sense," she said, shrugging. She watched him get up, place his cup by the sink and cross the kitchens. Watching him, she was reminded again by his walk. How something was so...different. She couldn't place it. She watched him walk up to the portrait door and pull on it.

"Maybe it's better when things don't," he said before turning and walking out, leaving a very confused Hermione behind.

* * *

**AN- Please do not hurt me! I am sorry- do you understand _now _when I said how hard it was for me to write this chapter. Just to let you know- the official pairing is _still _Blaise/Hermione. **

**Otherwise- I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Review please? I really want to know what you think about the Harry/Hermione thing. **


	6. Freud, Halloween, and Julie Andrews

AN- Sorry updating took me so long. I've been extremely stressed. But now I have a ton to update because I've just gotten my wisdom teeth taken out and I've recently had a TON of time to write. And if nothing makes sense- that would be the result of my pain medication. Apologies in advanced. You should be excited- you find out what happens at the Halloween Ball this chapter. Woo.

Extra thanks to my lourvely reviewers. I'm dreadfully sorry if I did not respond to you. I try to respond to ALL of my reviewers- especially if you have an opinion about my story- so if you want a reply- give me feedback! Either way- reviews are amazing.

One more thanks to my beta Chelsea- who edited 26,000 words for me in one week. That deserves a merit badge or something.

**-Chapter Six-**

_Freud, Halloween and Julie Andrews_

Hermione suddenly woke up at exactly 5:46 the next morning, rubbing what felt like medium-sized boulders out of the crook of her eyes. One look at the clock made her pull the covers back over her head, snuggling into the warmth of the heavy comforters.

"My God, Hermione, get some _sleep," _she muttered into her cotton wonderland. _That or cut the caffeine. Four hours of sleep is...adequate, _she deducted in her head, attempting to chastise herself, but found that she wasn't in the mood.

She kicked away the covers, making a whole lot of noise and not missing the fact that Erica had turned agitatedly in her sleep. It was Saturday, the grateful day after Pumpkin Day and the world was sleeping in. Save Hermione who was currently sulking in the cradle of her pillows and blankets and staring off into the dark, black, pre-sunset sky.

She leaned precariously over the side of her bed and wedged her hand under the mattress pushing her body in the air to keep as much weight off the spot as possible. After digging around for a while and with a mental _Eureka!, _she grasped a small book and un-wedged it from the spring board and mattress.

The ivory, tattered book stared at her with empathetic glee. The book was no bigger than the average Muggle reading book and its bindings were just a simple, floppy scrap of ivory leather with a not-so-threatening piece of suede for a lock. It was tied in a knot, but the charms on it would keep an unlearned person out of it. She had no hope against anyone who knew the ancient locking spell (out of the many), but it was her sad attempt. Thus, she kept it hidden.

She ran her padded thumb against the coffee-colored swirls that fluttered out of one corner spilling into a rather gaudy HG. She smirked, a pretty book for inane thoughts.

She tip-toed out bed, pretty sure that Erica was awake due to her frequent rustling. She didn't want to disturb her anymore. She grabbed her inkwell and a quill, along with a quilt off of the foot of her bed. She slid into the window seat, her bare skin yelping at the frosted window pane. She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and snuggled happily into the crook of the window and began to write.

_Saturday November 19th,_

_I can't sleep again. Same old, same old. Sleep deprivation must make up for more sleep deprivation. Although, I would think that the body would react in a less destructive way. Perhaps to actually make me feel normal and sleep until breakfast is over and I have to settle for cold porridge like any normal kid on this campus. But then again, I do chat up arrogant Slytherins about dystopian novels and get creeped out by his cryptic small talk. They're all just a little bit awkward._

_**Ten Reasons Why Pumpkin Day is Absurd**_

_**1. Inter-house pow-wows. **I wish they would stop wishing we would get along. I can't even imagine it. Not with the war. It's coming, we know it. We're just terrified. _

_**2. Fate being a wench. **Why else would she put Frank (mental note- _new. name.) _on my team? Hmmm? _

_**3. Dumbledore is on crack. **Hahaha... sorry, the mental image. _

_**4. I **_**still _have seeds in my hair. _**_After Frank picked at me like we're primates._

_**5. Pumpkin Gunk fights. **Actually, that _was _kind of fun. I think Frank is going to plot his revenge soon._

_**6. Cramps from laughing too much. **I actually think my side started spasming and now it is currently a knot of mis-proportioned nautical ropes._

_**7. Slytherin Civility. **Ugh, it was just too much to bear. Listen to me, bloody hypocrite. _

_**8. Spoons. **Enough said._

_**9. Kittens. **Don't ask. _

_**10. **Uh... I don't think I have a ten. Maybe it should be the Nine Reasons Why Pumpkin Day Should Be Abandoned from Hogwarts as a Annual Tradition. Because people get crazy, giggly, angry and lovey-dov- Oh... I _do _have a ten._

_**10. Harry Potter has pronounced me an Only, Only. **And I don't even know what it means. I am pretty sure I am his sex slave for the rest of his or my life, which ever flits away first, of unique and perfect proportions. Oh, listen to me. I'm a terrible person. I just don't know what to think of it, him being like my brother and all. I mean, what's going to become of...everything? _

_Last summer, both Ron and him took their shirts off to play Quidditch (yes, I _did _get on a broom, and I _did _play, badly. And yes my shirt did stay on) and it wasn't a thing. Well, it might've been a thing now that I think of it. Oh, God! Am I the slutty friend-girl that gets stuck between the two guy friends and they battle endlessly for their dignity like those really bad teen, Muggle movies which are basically a whole competition for sex? Ahhh..._

_Okay, chill Hermione. You're not. Anyway. The whole shirt thing. It wasn't a thing, it didn't bother me, didn't seem to bother them. I wasn't even attracted by the sweaty gleam of their skin in the dusk, and the subtle swish of their hair out of their glistening and glorius eyes..._

_Haha... just kidding. Okay, so if you're going to... uh...be Harry's Only, Only, you might as well be attracted to him...without his shirt...sweating...on a broom. AHHH! I'm GRIMACING! This... is...bad. Well, that was in the summer. I haven't even thought about it. Ever. Maybe new feelings have emerged, sort of like the whole Fruedian(-) thing. Except Harry isn't my father. But maybe I've been hiding submerged feelings for him for ages and just now, he could come streaking down my hall wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and I'll have the sudden desire to jump him, ravish him and have my way with him._

_I feel like crying. _

Hermione snapped her book shut and leaned against the pane of glass, now that her arms were covered, but the cool glass against her head was nice. She could see the lake from where she was sitting. She could also see the rising blue gleam of dawn approaching. She looked at the clock, 6:07.

She sighed in exasperation while sleep drifted towards her. She grinned. Sleep normally came to her in this way. In little spurts of exhaustion. Pulling herself off of the window seat, leaving her well and quill, she shoved the book under the mattress and fell into bed, wondering how long she'd sleep this time

­­­­­

* * *

Hermione wondered how long she could avoid Harry. For some reason, the thought of approaching him for _anything_ made her uneasy. Like this throbbing of anxiety in her stomach. She wasn't used to anyone being interested in her and now that _Harry _of all people was showing such unexpected feelings for her, well, she simply didn't know what to do.

There was this gaping whole of fluttering inside her stomach, but for everything she had imagined falling for someone would be like, she did not imagine it to be related to agony.

She was spending the afternoon on the grounds, hidden from all eyes. Behind the west towers of the castle, where most of the faculty was located, was a giant and vast field of tall, golden grass that was absolutely lovely in the spring time. The gold swiped across the back side of the castle, away from the lake, shady foliage, gazebos and other accompaniments that acquired to the students normal routine. The Forbidden Forest curled along the field only dusting the horizon of her vision, like a little green ribbon in a little girl's blonde hair.

It would be a popular visiting spot for couples, where the grass swallowed them up, nowhere to be seen by prying eyes if it weren't for the snakes. They were harmless enough, but the idea of snakes crawling around ready to pounce made squeamish girls...well, squeamish.

And when the snakes were nowhere to be found during the cooling months, the frost kept all students away from a special hiding place. They normally found solace in alcoves in hidden parts of the castle.

But it was Hermione's favorite place to think. She wasn't too happy with the idea of snakes herself, but she disregarded the fact when she lost her legs, immersed in the gold.

She was strolling idly, unseen to any eyes, until the castle looked like a doll house from her spot. Her hands drifted over the top of grass, the tops leaning in to kiss the inside of her palms. The movements calmed her raging insides.

_I can make this work, _she began to think to herself. _I just need to give the boy a chance. He deserves that, doesn't he? I mean, by God, I know him almost better than anybody in this world. The only other person would be Ron. And since he can't go frolicking around with Ron (well, I am a bit suspicious about that boy), why shouldn't he be interested in the one girl who's been there for it all?_

_Why shouldn't _I _be interested?_

Hermione sighed, and let herself fall into the grass, the long, thick blades bending to her whim. She let the frosty cold air lick at her face, the overcast skies not revealing any warmth. She was wrapped in a scarf and a black cloak. Her favorite with a vivid, red, satin ribbon that tied right at the hallow of her neck. It was the cloak she wore on most nice occasions, like the Halloween ball. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks.

_It was a costume ball, anticipated since the letter went out in the summer. Everyone was to dress in a costume if they wished to attend. Many were going to stay in their dorms, unenthused about dressing up for the occasion. But Hermione and Ginny planned early, retrieved their costumes in haste, excited by the fact that they could dress up for a night to pretend to be someone else. _

_Hermione, as most of the girls did, spent the last half of the day getting ready. She had pulled out her costume the night before to let it air from being in her trunk since August. The layers of lace and red danced at her. _

_She was going as the gorgeous ballerina of _Don Quiote, _the ballet. Her romantic skirt came in long layers of black and cream-colored tulle that stopped at her knees. The bodice was violent crimson and black lace that wrapped around her gracefully. In modesty, she wore her favorite black cloak with the thick, red, satin ribbon that situated it self neatly at her neck. _

_The ball wasn't exactly a secret affair. Everyone knew who their friends were and most masks were thrown to the side, final touches becoming a nuisance and abandoned, and other frills discarded. Hermione herself had removed her mask, her only hidden quality left was her darkened hair swirled at the back of her neck. _

_She didn't dance much. She just situated herself with her friends, laughing, eating, doing other stupid, fun, party stuff. _

_Until Aaron Chival asked Hermione to dance. He was clad in Shakespearean wear, his big, round, blue eyes and dark, blond hair accentuating the century's style._

_He wasn't nearly as popular as Cedric once was, and being Slytherin, Draco Malfoy took the status of that department. _

_Hermione hesitated, but took his hand, casting a look at Ginny who flashed her a big grin. Hermione shrugged, a little excited that Aaron Chival had asked her to dance. He situated her in his arms appropriately and they began to sway to the music. _

_"You look beautiful, tonight," he said with a sideways smile. Hermione blushed. _

_"Thank you. You look...very Romeo-esque," she offered lamely. _

_He seemed to take it as witty, for her threw his head back and laughed richly. The sound made her uncomfortable. Too much enthusiasm for not much humor. But he continued to sway her in his arms, smiling grandly at her. She attempted her own smile, but the way her was holding onto her, the flashing in his eyes, the perpetual smile unnerved her. _

_She thought that it was just nerves, for when he dipped her at the end of the song, causing her to cry out softly and clutch to him, a strange fluttering occurred in her abdomen. That is until a figure crashed into them, Hermione's body still nearly parallel to the floor. Hermione felt a cold liquid splash across her torso. In what might've been surprise, Aaron dropped Hermione to the floor, her body falling gracelessly. _

_She looked to see who her offender was, Pansy Parkinson. She sat up abruptly, trying to fix her clothing looking up at Aaron. He was laughing hysterically. So was Pansy. _

_Hermione rushed to her feet, looking around, dabbing at her wet torso. There were gasps and snickers all around. Hermione pulled her hands away at a stinging sensation that was occurring. She looked down._

_Glowing on her torso were vivid words in a hot, angry pink. She couldn't see what the words were, but humiliation filled her cheeks as the Slytherins gathered to laugh hysterically and chant what was splashed across her torso. Hermione was too numb to move. Until the stinging sensation caused her to cry out in sudden pain. _

_The laughing turned to gasps, which turned to more snickering, to what could possibly be fear. Hermione put her hands to her whalebone bodice. She touched hot, burning skin. She looked down to see her hands were livid and blistered. The bodice of her dress was burning away, leaving nothing but her bare stomach that was rising to a hot, blistering color. _

_Hermione watched numbly as the material slowly disintegrated before her eyes, crawling up and down towards more private areas. With a devastated sob of anger, humiliation and pain, Hermione dashed from the Great Hall in tears with everyone but the Slytherins twittering in shock and horror. The Slytherins were still clutching onto each other in laughter and appraise. _

_The story, as it was around the school, was that the Slytherins had gotten a hold of the Muggle indicator phenolthylene. They had been planning the assault - as rumor had it - since September, a way to get back at her for years of taking away house points, assigning detentions, but most importantly, the expulsion of a Slytherin Princess. _

_Lara Taylor was not the brightest, nor richest of the Slytherin dynasty, but with her malicious grin of small, white teeth, nearly-black eyes, and her...well, "_easy" _tendencies, she was one of the elite. More like a lady of the court than a princess. She was caught by Hermione using dark magic in their third year in the middle of the night. Hermione rushed the boy to the Infirmary, after _Stupefying_ Taylor and addressing her to Dumbledore. _

_Taylor had poisoned the boy's blood, among other things, and such use of dark magic was forbidden. Dumbledore left the choice up to Hermione saying he would respect her decision. _

_It didn't take long for truth to seep out. Hermione was blamed for Taylor's expulsion and while they seemed to be quiet about it, they fully plotted their revenge on her. A revenge taken out the evening of the Halloween Ball. _

_Since phenolthylene was not a common use in Potions, not many Wizards knew what an indicator was. All they knew was the liquid would turn a bright version of fuchsia when in the presence of acid. Unfortunately, Wizards don't have much knowledge of acids either. The only thing they were concerned with was the phenolthylene to work its purpose._

_Evidently, a second-year Gryffindor girl had been bribed into breaking into Hermione's sixth-floor dorm room. She was given specific instructions as what to do with the bottle of clear liquid, charmed to glow brighter than what was usual. _

_In Pansy Parkinson's cup was a pure and undiluted acid, pure as it comes. When the liquid spilled across her torso, the charmed substance did its job causing the words "_Mudblood, the traitor_." to grow blindingly for the few seconds, flashing across her breasts, all of the way down to her naval. _

_The Slytherins hadn't anticipated the acid to start burning through her clothing, let alone her skin. But to them, it was the icing on the cake, to the rest of the school, the sight of the red hot blisters starting at her belly button, then rippling out in puddles where the acid was foremost present was appalling._

_There were pictures snapped, stories to be told, and rumors to be gossiped about. Stories that "_traitor" _meant that she had become a Death Eater and was Voldemort's first hand courtesan. More that she was Draco Malfoy's secret lover. Or his father's personal prostitute. It took ages for the rumors to die down. The Slytherins never chased down any rumors. Not even the ones including the Malfoys. If it meant more humiliation to them, they were happy. _

_The biggest surprise of all was one picture snapped, focused on a bare pelvic bone where a design about the size of a thumb was imprinted. The picture revealed an ornate mermaid drawn out in only green and black. The mermaid was resting, her green tail curing around the edge of Hermione's pelvic bone, her head resting at the top, her long hair curling around her, hiding her naked body. Her eyes were closed in a serene and mystical sleep. She looked lulled by a beautiful lyric, or by the rocking cradle of Hermione's hips when she danced, or maybe by the comfort of her small existence. _

_The tattoo was talked about for weeks, but without any confirmation from Hermione, the picture was dubbed as edited for a Slytherin's fun prank. No one could imagine the Pristine and Demure Granger with something as scandalous as a tattoo. _

_Hermione's wounds were treated immediately, the blistering skin wrapped in gauze for a week. There was, thankfully, no signs of scarring on her stomach, but her palms exposed the slightest bit of the shiny pinkness if caught in the light right. _

_But the humiliation of being nearly half-naked, humiliated and demoralized in front of her entire school was enough to scar her head for years. _

Hermione tried to chase away the embarrassed hole in her stomach, blinking away the hot, angry tears. She lived with the humiliation for the past few weeks now, the rumors having died down, the bandages gone from her hands, but the taunts were still regular. People she had never even met called her "Blood-Traitor", a hybrid of the words that labeled her.

She was grateful for the people's silence now, but she still loathed the Slytherins with every fiber of her being. They all seemed to have been in on the act, each contributing to their act of vice. Which would be why Hermione blamed Zabini. They were all one and the same.

Harry had been by her bedside though. Madame Pomfrey wouldn't allow him or Ron into the infirmary until she was appropriately covered, the acid fully destroying nearly all material of her costume. As she cried into her pillow from horror, Harry had held her hand while Ron had to fetch Ginny who, after making sure Hermione was fit, left to seek her own kind of revenge. Which resulted in a duel – Weasley's attack on the Chival boy. Hermione was grateful, but the got the detentions they deserved.

The worst part was, no one fessed up, and no one but Hermione, Chival and Parkinson saw what had happened. Hermione knew that blaming somebody was what got her into the situation, so she just admitted that she didn't see who spilled the acid. The only people punished in the whole affair were Ginny and Ron.

A chill wrapped itself around Hermione in the field, the wind blowing the grass in soft waves.

Hermione remembered Harry that evening and felt that he deserved a chance from her. If she couldn't care for Harry, then who in the world _could _she care for?

* * *

On the way back from her stroll, Hermione found Harry sitting under a tree, knees bent, eyes glazed over. She smiled and made her way to his tree. He looked up at the sound of her approach. A smile curled up in his face and Hermione's gaping hole of anxiety throbbed.

_Is this what butterflies are? _she found herself asking.

"Hey, you," he greeted. Hermione sat down beside him, nestled in an entanglement of roots.

"Hello, yourself," she said.

The air was immediately awkward. Harry seemed shy, and Hermione wasn't sure how this worked. But eventually, Harry leaned in, hesitating about four times, making Hermione turn her head so that when he did kiss her, he got her cheek. Hermione inwardly winced. _Oh, this is odd. _

"Where've you been?" he asked, clearing his throat. Hermione almost sighed in relief, a distraction.

"Just walking. It's a pretty day," she said, shrugging.

Harry looked around. The air was dry and bitter, the sky looked like it would drop ice any moment, and the fire-tops of the trees were becoming dead, bald patches against the forest sky.

"Yep, gorgeous," he remarked sarcastically. Hermione frowned.

"Well, I like it," she said objectively.

"It's alright, I guess," he offered, not seeming to care much.

"Have an exciting day yourself?" she asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

"Yep," he said, staring out across the lake. Hermione looked at him as if expecting more. He stared back at her and shrugged. "Woke up, ate, looked for you, didn't find you, sat, you found me."

Hermione chuckled a bit. "Sounds like...fun," she commented. She didn't ever remember conversations with Harry being this difficult. She threw it to the excuse of the awkwardness. "So, Harry. What...are we?" she asked on impulse. She didn't think twice about it because she knew it would deter her from actually asking the question. He looked over at her with bright green eyes. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'm glad one of us said something," he said gratefully.

_Then why didn't _you? Hermione asked in her head.

He mused it over. "Well, I don't know. I was hoping we could, be...well, I don't know," he said, drawing on. Hermione sighed in agitation, but she wasn't about to ask a question she wasn't even sure she wanted to answer.

"What, Harry?" she pushed. He blushed. Hermione wanted to moan. It shouldn't be this troubling.

"Well, I was hoping you'd be my girlfriend,' he said, obviously trying not to rush his words like he did on a normal basis. Hermione forced a smile and gave it a mere three seconds to mull it over.

"I like that idea," she said, not sure whose feelings she was supporting: his or hers. Harry broke out into a grin and kissed her fully on the mouth. It was a lovely kiss and it made Hermione blush. It wasn't anything smutty by any means, but the intention was sweet and heart-melting. After a few moments, Hermione pulled away wish a sheepish grin.

"What about Ron?" she asked suddenly. Harry seemed affronted.

"What about him?" he forced out.

"Well, doesn't he need to know? I mean, we can't go prancing about him, holding hands and snogging. He might get confused. You never know- he might see it as a friendly gesture, and before we know it, we're having a threesome." Hermione was surprised by her own crude words, but they made Harry laugh and that made her feel good.

"I guess we'll tell him later today. Dinner perhaps?" he suggested. Hermione laughed.

"And if he isn't alright with the idea? Are you sure you're ready for the entire school to subjected to the uproar?" Hermione said. Harry shrugged.

"I think he'll be fine with it. But to be on the safe side, let's do it in the common room," Harry said with a laugh.

"Oh, yes, so then everyone will _gossip_ It seems like the emphasis should be on will, not gossip. If I'm perceiving it wrong then just change it back.about it," Hermione said bitterly, not even realizing that she had shot down both of his ideas.

"Well, what do _you _propose, then?" he asked distastefully. Hermione quickly retaliated.

"Oh, the common room is fine, I was just commenting," she said. She didn't realize how much she really didn't want Ron to know. How much she didn't want anyone to know.

* * *

"Oh, really? That's...nice," Ron said, looking a bit embarrassed. Hermione and Harry exchanged incredulous looks. Ron shrugged.

"What?" he started. "You want me to prance around, clicking my heels like Julie Andrews while singing about flowers and deer's? Or perhaps I should throw a baby shower, would that be suitable? C'mon, what were you expecting?"

Harry shrugged while Hermione was giving Ron an odd look. "You've seen _The Sound of Music?" _she asked doubtfully.

Ron looked up quickly. "Uh, yeah. It was...um...the first movie I was shown as a kid," he said as if it were normal. Hermione just nodded.

"So, you're okay with this?" Harry asked. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Do you need my blessing or something? Sure." Ron stood up and began to cross the couple that were sitting in opposite arm chairs across from him. "I bless you in the divine approval of Ronald Weasley, in the name of the red hair, wit, and many freckles, Amen." Ron sat down to a laughing Hermione and a stunned Harry.

"Maybe we should've done this in the Great Hall. There could've been someone there to recruit him into Priesthood," Harry joked. Hermione laughed and Ron scowled.

* * *

Hermione fell asleep at ten o'clock that night, her eyes fluttering against her cheeks until she sunk down in the pillow, her mind promising her that she would sleep through the night, into the brightness of Sunday morning.

But when her eyes flashed open to dreary dark and the sudden red lights of her alarm clock, Hermione moaned, inwardly. She squeezed her eyes shut in a silent prayer that drowsiness would come back to her. In a frustrated sigh, she glared at the clock.

_Four bloody hours. You've got to be kidding me. _

She growled inwardly while she snatched her cloak off of one of her bed's posters. She fastened the red ribbon under her chin, for the castle was never heated during the nighttime. She reached under her mattress for her journal, although she wasn't in the mood to write, she knew that she would be if she didn't bring it along. She also grabbed her nearly finished copy of _We. _

In a practiced fashion, she glided from the common room and down the halls in haste. When she approached a less-populated area, her pace slackened and she enjoyed the moonlight pouring from the skylights above her. She even paused to stare up at the stars. She spun into the silver moonlight, the vast rays completely illuminating the giant, but never-used hall. Her long cloak skidded along the floor, the slightest residue of dust rising up around her like a shroud of stardust. She allowed a giggle. She looked at her hands, as if she were cupping the rays like nectar.

But the lovely light caught the pink skin, causing the pink wrinkles to glow more intensely than that of sunlight and torchlight. Her mood saddened, she quickly slipped out of the light and down to the kitchens where she would hopefully find solitude.

She took her time down the halls, thinking up about the many varieties of sweets and comfort food she would adorn herself with tonight. Her hand glided against the walls, brushing over the frames of pictures, the fringes of tapestries, the secrets of people until she realized that she had walked too far.

She backtracked until she finally arrived to the staircase that led to the kitchens. Looking at her watch, she realized that her walk had taken her nearly forty-five minutes. In a sigh of regret (she hated wasting time just doing nothing), she approached the portrait. Stepping in, she was disappointed to see Zabini there, but she was growing accustomed to his presence now. He turned, and in quick haste, he snapped something shut, sliding it down between the wall and his chair.

She watched as he corked his ink well and dried his quill, setting them to the side.

"Plotting, Zabini?" Hermione asked, her interest piqued, but not about to let it on. She sat down, opposite from him. He cast her an odd look.

"What would I be plotting, Granger?" he said, looking a bit nervous.

"Well, world domination of course," she said with an over-sweet grin. "Of course, doing that would require wit and intelligence, but we can look at it as an honest and sanguine outlook of really trying."

"You're mocking me," he stated. Hermione turned her head to the side.

"Yes." She paused. "Well, then again, you could be devising plans for a dashing escape from Hogwarts including several cadavers, toothpicks and dystopian novels. Oh, and don't forget the kittens." She had no idea where the words were coming from. They were flowing from her in a spout of complete and utter mirth. He scowled, not looking amused at all. He opened his mouth to retort, but Hermione beat him to it.

"Then again, why not stage a new, horrifying stunt against another Gryffindor damsel who happened to tick you off in the slightest bit?" she offered with a cheeky grin.

"I told you, Granger, I was not in on that." He sighed hopelessly, looking annoyed enough to get up and leave.

"The entire _house _was in on that, so don't give me that bullshit," she smarted. At that moment, Dobby arrived with her coffee. There was silence until Dobby left, his feet dragging behind him, his eyes still closed.

"Perhaps, but I was not," he said, staring at her defiantly. Hermione had to look away.

"I don't believe you," she said, speaking the truth. Zabini leaned back in his chair.

"Then don't," he said matter-of-factly.

Hermione gaped at him for a bit. She abruptly closed her mouth, taking her mug in hand, her mind drifting back to the array of sweets she had dancing in her head just minutes before. She dismissed them, her interest still on his book.

"So, what exactly is that?" she asked, nodding her head toward the corner that concealed his hidden book.

"Potions homework," he said without hesitation. Hermione lifted an eyebrow.

"Oh, really? I thought Snape only accepted scrolls."

"Would you quit being so nettling, Granger? It's just a book. I don't like wasting scrolls, so I make my notes in a book before I transfer them onto a scroll so I don't wreck them," he said, his agitation extremely evident.

"Hmm... a Slytherin, a _money saver? _Amazing," Hermione couldn't stop her harsh words. They kept flying out of her mouth in a release she couldn't describe. Zabini stood up, pushing his chair back.

"You know what, enjoy your coffee in silence, because I'm not enduring this," he said as he leaned over for his belongings. Hermione immediately felt guilty about her behavior. With a sigh, she spoke rapidly.

"I'm sorry, Zabini. I don't know what's possessed me. I don't mean to disturb you," she said.

_My GOD! _her head screamed, _Why can't I control my words tonight? _That wasn't what she wanted to say at all. Zabini raised his own eyebrow.

"Don't go and _try _to sound like a groveling Victorian woman after she's taking too large a sip of tea, Granger" he said, actually sounding amused. "But, if you'll miss my company, I guess I'll have to stay."

Hermione sighed. "No, no, please. Don't let me keep you from leaving. Hurry, scamper along, if you must," she said in a bored, useless tone. She already knew he was staying; she was just trying to make her situation sound more pathetic. "I just simply didn't want you leaving the kitchens thinking me a useless prig," she said, her chin slouching into her hand. Zabini wore the expression of all amused expressions.

"It seems that you already have me figured out," he said with a smile that unnerved her. She sat up and took a sip of coffee.

"What do you mean by that?"

He sat down, scooting his chair back under the table. "I mean that you knew that I wasn't leaving. So, that whole monologue, as pathetic as it was, was useless, so you spoke of it as so," he said cheekily. Hermione grimaced. He was right.

"Hmm... well, you wouldn't want me figuring you out anymore, now would you? So, in attempt to save your cryptic past, how about you go back to bed and leave me to my silence?" she offered hopefully. Zabini smirked and shook his head.

"Not a chance."

Hermione huffed and watched as her breath stirred some coffee out of her cup and jumping in small, tiny droplets to her bare legs. In horror, she realized that she was wearing just a tank top and a pair of lavender shorts that could count as underwear, let alone that fact that it was meant to be slept in. In a rush of modesty, she wrapped her cloak around herself. Zabini didn't miss this.

"Cold?" he asked, pretending to be oblivious. Hermione nodded, suddenly embarrassed. An uncomfortable silence fell about them and Hermione had the desire to reach for her book, but couldn't bring herself to do it. It was Zabini who broke the silence.

"So, you and Potter?"

Hermione's head snapped up, causing a rocking in her mug again to come splashing down on her cloak, not harming her, but the idea that it was her best cloak made her cringe. Her resentment for him fluttered up in an instant and the mention of Harry made that fluttering hole rip open to release the butterflies in her stomach.

"Is it already all over the school?" she asked, affronted and appalled. Zabini shook his head.

"Of course not. Well, his affections for you have been around the school for months now. It'll be no surprise to them when the gossip starts," he offered, leaning back in his chair. Hermione gaped at him.

"Affections for me? You mean the school knows that he..." she trailed off. Zabini smirked.

"And you mean to tell me you're the last one to know?" he asked smoothly.

"Yes. Well, no. I mean, I knew, but I didn't know. I guess it just never occurred to me," Hermione was frowning, speaking quickly. "I mean, now that I look back on it, I know. But for the time being, as in now, or as in yesterday, or as in whenever. Yes. I mean, no." She took a deep breath and thought about her words for a moment. "No. I mean, no, I didn't know."

"So, you _didn't _know that Potter was tragically in love with you for months now?" he asked. Oh, he looked like he was having a grand ol' time with this.

"No. And you're saying everyone else knew?" she asked, pathetic and shocked.

"_Everyone,"_ he confirmed.

"But no one knows we're together now?" she asked, trying to catch up on gossip. The fact that it was her own gossip she was catching up disturbed her a bit.

"Well, by tomorrow morning it probably won't be a secret. But I didn't hear it from anyone I know," he said, crossing his arms over his chest, which was clad in a simple white t-shirt.

"Then how do _you _know?_" _she asked, wondering what to accuse him of.

"I saw the two of you walking up to the castle after the _lovely _Pumpkin Day festivities. You don't seem the "friends-with-benefits" type, so I just assumed that you were together," he said and shrugged.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, but decided that it wasn't anything to be worried about. She leaned back in her own chair with a heavy sigh.

"For a girl dating one of the most famous Wizards in all of human history, you don't seem too elated," he pointed out. Hermione glared at him .

"Who says I'm not elated?" she asked, defensive.

"Not who, what. It's all over your face," he stated. He sounded so damn sure of himself.

"What are you? My psychiatrist? I'm happy," she said a bit too forcefully, getting up to move. She had gathered her belongings, and headed for the door when he shrugged. She was about to give the portrait a good shove when she heard him call out her name. She turned around to see him looking at her over his shoulder.

"Next time you say that you're happy, make sure it doesn't sound like you're trying to convince yourself in the process."

With a huff, Hermione shoved the portrait open and left in a wounded whirl.

* * *

(-)Freud was scientist of sorts that studied the human mind. He's the one that came up with the Oedipus and Elecktra complex. Yeah, the one where every son supposedly has this secret desire to sleep with his mom (adequately named after the Greek Myth of...go figure, Oedipus Rex). The Elecktra complex is the opposite. Daughter and Daddy. Gross, yes? Yeah, he just studied submerged feelings for just about everything. Most of them were related to sex. Interesting, sick man.

* * *

AN- Aren't Slytherins cruel, cruel creatures? Let me know what you think about my Carrie-esque prank, the journal, and whatever else you find approriate. I love feedback. I don't even mind flames. So, anger away.

-Roses.


End file.
